Recipe for Disaster and Hilarity
by Zantetsuken Reverse
Summary: 5th book. After a de-aging spell gone wrong, Prussia, Spain, Belarus, Italy, and Romano are called to England's house. Now, they have to live at Privet Drive until he can find a cure. Not only that, it's Sealand's first year at Hogwarts. But when Dementors attack, the nations get curious...and go to Hogwarts themselves. Add a dash of the Baltics and Austria...Look out, Hogwarts!
1. Chapter 1

This story is a half-sequel to Arthur Kirkland, United Kingdom, Pirate. NO, DON'T RUN AWAY ON ME, NON-ONE PIECE READERS! One event will cross over, and that will be it. And I will explain it!

I have never been to another country's airport, so forgive me for any mistakes. Well… the airport has a LOT of creative liberties. For one, the metal detectors… did they have them in airports in 1995? They were just there to make a point.

Disclaimer: I don't own either.

Chapter 1: The part where the audience gets an explanation and the characters get the short end of the stick

I was furious.

That's a good word. The best one that can pass the rating of a kid's movie.

What was I so frustrated about? Well, there are two things, technically. The cause and the effect. But it was the effect that got me royally (**past tense of peeing/ very, very drunk/angry**) off.

It all began, with me and West… No, wait. It began with England's angry magical curse involving pirates and… Although, it might have began with the day The Awesome Me was born, a little more than eight hundred years ago…

Yeah, yeah. We're personified nations here. Anthropomorphic personifications. That's good enough for that last one. I'm not going to go into the details.

The other two… well; I'll start with what happened with the pirates. Back at one of our World Meetings, England got mad at America (again) and tried to curse him.

It didn't work. By accident, England transported us all to an alternate dimension. To make a long story short, we came back. Unfortunately, a bunch of us were turned into kids by the time we came back. And that included the awesome me… West said that I looked around seventeen, maybe eighteen.

So there we were; me and West, back in Germany. We had just gotten back from Norway. Both of us had already settled into our house, and were halfway through our day job: training police.

And that was when all of my bottled up anger first flared.

As usual, West took the newest recruits through the drills and I hung back until he was ready for me. Heh… I already knew all of their names from the moment they stepped in. One of the perks of being East Germany. As long as I remember to ask them their names.

"Gilbert!" West barked. "Time for you to take over." He left, on his way to the bathroom.

"Ja, ja, got it," I said offhandedly. I swaggered my way to the recruits. "All right, listen up! My name is Gilbert Beilschmidt, and I am here to teach you all about unarmed combat!"

I heard a snort from Wilhelm Fischer. "You? Aren't you a little young to be doing this?" he said. "What are you, in high school? Graduation isn't for another few months, kid!"

I glared at him. "Shut it, Wilhelm!" I snapped. How dare that unawesome loser call me a kid when I'm over eight hundred! It wasn't my fault that I'm in the body of a teenager now!

"Oh?" he said. He was unnerved by the fact that I knew his name, but he didn't show it. "What are you going to do to me? Kung Fu that you learned in a strip mall won't be much use in real-"

THWACK! I hit him on the back of his neck. "Rule number one; never talk back to instructor unless you have a good reason!" I said awesomely. Still, I was furious. That kind of anger I could bar for a while and keep a cool head with, but it didn't go away.

But Wilhelm was almost as angry as I was. "You-" he spat. "If you're so smart, dodge this!"

He tried to punch me, but I blocked with my left hand and punched him in the face with my right. "Rule number two; don't warn your victi- I mean opponent before attacking! Leave no openings! Oh, and by the way… I'm left handed," I turned around and said to Wilhelm, leaving him with all the implications.

_Oh, mein gott, did he punch harder than me with his non-dominant hand_? Wilhelm thought; along with _so if he blocked with his left, then he could absorb the force with more control _and_ if that was his right hand, what could he do with his left?_

"…which leads me to rule number three. Train both of your hands equally! It doesn't matter if you're right or left handed!"

Wilhelm waited until my back was turned before he grabbed me into a Full Nelson. Using only my back muscles, I flung him forward and off of me.

But not before he gave me a solid kick in the Silesia.

_Mein Gott, that hurt_! The pain… the agony! I knew pain, suffering that was unimaginable to humans… Invasions, defeat, freezing cold and blazing heat, the millionfold suffering of my people, the Berlin Wall that kept me from seeing West for almost half a century… but nothing, NOTHING could compare to a solid hit to my Vital Regions. At least, that's what it felt like now…

Slowly, steadily, I rose from the asphalt. The other trainees huddled together unconsciously, preparing for the beating I was going to give Wilhelm. Wilhelm himself was not as intimidated, however. Granted, he was scared, but he stood up tall and absolutely refused to show any sign of weakness. His expression was clear, stating, 'Bring it on. I can take anything you dish out. I'm not afraid of you'.

I put my hand on his shoulder and grinned. "You've got spunk," I said, resisting the urge to call him 'kid'. "You talked back to me, looked down on me, tried to punch me… But you know what I liked?"

"Hmph," said Wilhelm. "Right now you're going to say heart, ri-"

"You fought unfairly."

It took exactly thirty-two seconds for all the recruits to take that in. "Excuse me," said Maria, an Austrian with absolutely no relation to the Hapsburgs. "But did you just say… unfairly?"

"Ja!" I said. "A Full Nelson and a kick to the… vital regions! Police work is mainly paperwork, granted, but you need to be prepared! This isn't a level playing field! It's a battlefield! You've got to-"

"Danke, bruder, but I think that that's enough." West snuck up behind me and clamped his hand over my mouth. "Listen up! We will run two laps around the city, and then you may leave."

"Ja…" everyone said dejectedly.

"Follow me, then!" West began to run. The police trainees followed.

Why not? I had to wait for West anyway, so I chased after them. The clever Wilhelm was in the back, jogging slowly to conserve his energy. "Oh, and by the way," I said as I passed him. "Remember; just because I like you, doesn't mean that you're off the hook. After this, you will have to clean the entire police station tonight. No excuses!"

Before Wilhelm could open his mouth, I laughed and dashed to the front of the line, where West was. "Bruder…" he said. "**What was that all about**?" he said in Hungarian.

"West, he doesn't have a reason not to," I said, not picking up on why he wasn't speaking German.

"That's not what I meant," he said. "**Prussia, did you see how Wilhelm looked down on you just because you're in the body of a teenager**?"

"**Well, yeah, but**-"

"**Can you really put up with this**?"

"Yes," I said vehemently.

West sighed. "Are you sure?"

"Yes!"

"If you say so…"

Little did we know about the letter that awaited us when we got home.

X (Romano POV)

I was furious. No, I wasn't. Furious is a word that describes a king in a fairy tale when his daughter runs away with the one she loves. The word that best describes how I was feeling, on the other hand, will never get past the rating. Here's a hint: it can mean either the past tense of peeing, being extremely drunk, or extremely angry. It also starts with a P.

How it happened? Okay, after that (illegitimate child) England turned us all into kids, he sent all of us home, saying some bull-(poop) that he couldn't focus with all of us here. Then again, I had to do something about my mafia, so I was more than willing to go home.

The problem was that fratello and I were both turned into kids, too. Sixteen-year olds, to be exact. I didn't think that it was that much of a problem at first. Then again, I wasn't where I was right now.

I was supposed to be meeting with representatives from the Cibatta mafia, whom I didn't have a very good relationship with ever since they kidnapped me a hundred and fifty years ago [1]. But, I had to bear with it. As usual.

Until the time to talk actually came, I was calm. At least, I was as calm as I usually was; which was crabby by most people's standards.

The Cibatta boss came in person to talk with me, with a whole bunch of bodyguards like a normal justifiably paranoid person. I was supposed to be the host, so I rented out a hotel room for the day and waited for them there.

So when the Cibatta turned up, all they saw was a teenage boy. "Where is Vargas?" the Cibatta boss, Luciano, demanded. It took me five seconds for me to figure out that he thought that I was a messenger.

"He was sick," I lied quickly.

"He promised that he would be here!" shouted Luciano.

"Really, really sick," I suggested.

"So he sent you here in his place?" Luciano snorted. "What a coward."

"WHO ARE YOU CALLING A COWARD, YOU (illegitimate child)?!" I shouted at him.

Luciano looked at me. "Did you just…?"

Did I just admit that I was the real deal? "Uh… I mean, Signor Vargas is a very good boss, and I don't want you to call him a coward?" I chanced.

Luciano sighed. "Let's pretend that I believe you. Now, to business."

The whole deal went on, and this time, I didn't have to walk on eggshells as usual. Since I was the messenger, then nothing I said was, in fact, my fault! But the whole debate was so annoying…

After they left, I went to the nearest bar for a drink. "I need to see your ID," said the barkeeper.

I handed him my card, which he examined closely. His face screwed up into a look of irritation. "You're twenty-two? Really?"

Damn! I never bothered to change my ID, so it still had my real age printed on it! It was legal for me to drink here, since I barely qualify for the legal drinking age (sixteen); but now that I already showed him my ID, he thinks that I'm lying about my age even though I'm actually telling the (technical) truth! Agh… on top of that, there aren't any other good bars around here…

I stormed home, and rifled through the cabinets for a bottle of… pretty much anything.

"Ve~ fratello!" screamed Veneziano. "Fratello, come here! VE! LOOK AT THIS!"

"What is it?" I asked, irritated. What does it take for a guy to get a decent drink?

"It's a letter, fratello! A letter from England!"

I grabbed the letter and read it. "Oh… that (illegitimate child)!"

X (Belarus POV)

I was furious. When my body was turned into that of a fifteen year old, I was mostly fine. I could always ask Ukraine for any vodka I wanted, and the government knew perfectly well that I didn't have to go to school. But this… this was completely unavoidable.

"Are you sure that you need a wedding dress?" the saleswoman asked me. "You're not going to get married any time soon…"

I glared at her, but didn't respond. I had long learned that telling other people that I wanted to marry my big brother made them edge away… and then run off as fast as they could. And there was really no point in getting involved with the police _and_ getting arrested again.

At that moment, my cell phone began to buzz. I picked up the call. "Natalya?" said the person on the other end of the line.

It was Ukraine. "What is it?" I asked.

"I got a strange letter in the mail," she said. "It was addressed to you, but I got it instead. It's from England."

What now? "What does it say?"

"I haven't opened it yet," she said.

I sighed. "Just read it out loud, it'll save both of us a lot of trouble."

There was a pause on her end, and the sound of paper ripping. "England wants you to come to his house," Ukraine said.

"What?" I asked, incredulous.

"He says it's important, and your very existence could depend on it. Also, you're going to have to live in England's house for a while."

I thought for a moment. Why would he ask me to come of all times?

"До побачення," Ukraine said. (**Goodbye**)

"Да пабачэння," I said back. (**Goodbye**)

X (Spain POV)

I was not furious. In fact, I was content. That is, even up until the point when England called us to his house. I still wasn't even after we talked.

I was overjoyed. I could be with Romano for an uncertain period of time!

But time to backtrack. When I came to England's house, he was waiting in the drawing room. Sealand was sitting on a stool, for some reason uncharacteristically silent. Everyone else who was turned into a kid was there, too. I sat down, Prussia on my left and Romano on my right.

"All right, then," England said. He too was turned into a child, but he was now much younger than we were. Being a teenager was one thing. I could handle that. Being turned into a five year old… I couldn't imagine that. "Down to business."

"And why did you call us here?" Belarus asked. She and Romano seemed to be the most irritated out of all of us.

"I was getting to that," England said thornily. "Remember when we got de-aged?"

"How could ve forget?" Prussia said dryly.

"You were dressed like a Teutonic Knight the whole time!" I said good-naturedly.

Prussia glared at me. "You vere not zere for ze whole time, Spain! I only vore zat because I vas vashing my ozzer clothes!"

"A-hem?" England said.

"Oh. Right."

"Thank you. Anyways, I realized that now that you have been de-aged, there are three possible outcomes if not treated," England said. "One, you will remain that age forever."

"Oh no…" Romano groaned. "Forever?"

"Hypothetically, from that point you either stay the same or age at the same rate that you would normally age at, but with a lower spring board."

"Ve? What do you mean?" Italy asked.

"It's like a linear equation," Prussia explained. "You know graphing equations? X+1=Y? Vell, if X is the age ve should be physically and Y is the age zat ve are, zen it vould be like X minus votever equals Y. 'Votever' being the difference between vot should be und vot you are right now."

"And if it's a linear equation, then the line that it draws would be the aging rate!" said Belarus.

"Exactly!" said Prussia. "Vot is ze last idea, England?"

"Those were both the first one!" said England. "Two outcomes of the first theory. And Romano; that was the second-best scenario."

"What's best, then?" I asked.

"You age normally, and end up at your normal age," said England. "Worst case scenario…"

Italy shuddered. "Ve… Don't tell me…"

"Yes," said England solemnly. "You'd age normally, but you won't stop aging until you reach your actual age."

"Ve… that is the worst…" Italy said.

"What does it mean?" I asked.

"Spain, you're over two thousand years old, right?" asked England.

"Two thousand and seven hundred something," I admitted.

"Let's put it like this. You'd age at the same rate as a normal human, but instead of stopping at twenty-five, you'd stop at two thousand and seven hundred something."

Whoa… "A century isn't much by our standards, but it will be for you," said England. "Your body would deteriorate horribly by that time. All of you. All of you are centuries old, and…"

"So why call us here?" Belarus asked. "Why didn't you just tell us this in the letter?"

"Because I need you to be close by for the time being," said England. "By Norway's calculations, I should be done from any time from next week to a year."

"A year!?"

"Or two," said England. "Now, I can't let you stay in my house—and by that I mean this house, not my land—for a few reasons. One, my experiments are liable to blow up in my face and you might get hurt. Two, I can't focus with you around."

Prussia groaned. "Vot is zis going to take…?"

"Don't worry, I've already arranged for you to stay somewhere," said England. "But Sealand has to come with you."

"Wait, what?!" Sealand shouted.

"This just gets better and better," Belarus muttered.

"Cheer up, it's a big enough house for all of you," said England. "Anyway, he's going to move out in September. And just in case someone asks why all you 'underage' chaps are running about, I asked someone to live with you."

"Who?"

"You'll see."

"Where is it?" Romano asked.

"Here."

England handed us a slip of paper with an address on it.

"Number three, Privet Drive."

X (Harry POV)

I looked out my bedroom window, watching nothing in particular. Ms. Number Three had moved in yesterday, and was so busy with moving that she didn't come to tea with Aunt Petunia at all. She did, however, promise to come today.

I sighed. Nothing much to see, after all. I gazed idly as a car rounded the corner, and parked itself neatly into the driveway of Number Three. A silver-haired bloke had emerged from the driver's seat and was yelling something indistinct. Another chap, this one with a large smile that reached his eyes had gotten out of the passenger's seat and said something to reassure his friend. A girl silently exited the same way that her smiling friend did, and added a few words. With an inaudible click, two more doors on both sides of the car opened, and three other blokes were visible. I could see that two of them looked so much alike that I wouldn't have been surprised if they were twins, while the third was a kid around eleven who was obviously unrelated to either of them. In fact, none of them looked like they were related to each other at all, besides the possibly-twins.

The brother with lighter hair and closed eyes had said something, to which his gloomy brother muttered something in reply. The kid got out a keychain and unlocked the door.

_Just another boring day_, I thought. _New neighbors? Nothing compared to what awaited me at Hogwarts._

Little did I know exactly how wrong I was.

X (Sealand POV)

Jerk-England told me about his theories of the others aging a little while before, so I wasn't exactly surprised. Me having to move out and live with them…that was another story. But Privet Drive… "Doesn't someone important live on Privet Drive?" I asked. "You kept on talking about something happening there… Didn't a chap named Beatrix Potter blow up his aunt a couple years ago?"

"It was _Harry_ Potter, and yes," said jerk-England.

"Vait… vy does Sealand haf to leave?" asked Prussia.

Jerk-England flinched. "Oh, right," he said. "I forgot. To make a long story short… Sealand's inherent magic recently awakened."

"Ve?" said Italy, confused.

Spain sighed. "How about making that short story into one that we can actually understand?"

England thought for a moment. "Okay. Remember that incident with the pirates?"

All six of us groaned. "How can we forget…?" Belarus muttered.

"After we came back, Sealand showed the potential to use magic," said England.

"Okay…" said Romano.

"Ve~ is it because he's your brother?" asked Italy.

"Or kid, depending on how you look at it," muttered Romano.

I made a face. "Let's not get into that," I said.

"No," said England. "All nations have that potential. I'm sure that all of you can use magic if you actually _tried_. Since Sealand is a mirconation, I'm not quite sure how it worked out, but that's not important right now."

"Zen vot is?" asked Prussia.

"He's going to Hogwarts in September."

"Und Hogwarts is…?"

"A school for wizards," said Belarus bluntly. "You can't teach him, can you?"

Jerk-England opened his mouth to protest, but he decided against it. "Fine. I admit it. I can't teach you, Sealand."

I shrugged. "Is that supposed to be a disappointment?" I asked. "Besides, you already told me about Hogwarts a long time ago. Didn't you hack into the school computer or something?"

"Not exactly… but you're enrolled, anyhow," he replied.

"Hold on a minute," said Spain. "I thought that you were good at magic. Why can't you-"

Jerk-England bristled. "I AM good at magic," he said stiffly. "But that has nothing to do with Sealand. Magic is too instinctive for me, so I'll have a hard time teaching someone who hasn't got that instinct."

"What if I do have that instinct?" I retorted.

"If you do, then you wouldn't have to be taught."

Ah. "So I stay at Privet Drive until September?" I asked.

"Yes." Jerk-England wrote something down on a slip of paper. "Remember: September First, King's Cross Station, Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, run through the barrier between platforms nine and ten, the train leaves at exactly Eleven O'clock," he muttered as he wrote. He handed the paper to me. "Don't you dare lose that."

"What about the train ticket?" I asked.

"You don't have to worry about that, either. Someone from Hogwarts will come to your house, and he or she will give it to you… in a few days."

"So vy tell him vot to do now?" asked Prussia. "I mean, ven zat person comes, zey vill tell him vot to do, ja?"

"Nein," said England irritably. "These people don't think to tell other people stuff that they think is intuitive. Unfortunately, that extends to running through what appears to be a perfectly solid barrier and expecting a train on the other end. Or thinking that everyone knows the sport of Quiddich. Or having the idea of owls as a plausible delivery system."

Prussia shrugged. "I haf Gilbird," he said.

"It's just like pigeons, si?" said Spain. "Homing pigeons."

"Except the owls are intelligent… no, wait, owls are good at delivery," said England. "They're just not very…"

"Practical?" suggested Belarus.

"Fast?" added Spain.

"Inconspicuous, that's the word," said England.

There was a long pause, in which no one actually had any more questions.

"That's all I have to say here," said Jerk-England. "Now, I drew you a map to the house already, it's on the table. Help yourself to anything that's in the cupboard to the left of the refrigerator."

He hopped off of the stool he was sitting on and left for the stairs to the attic, leaving the rest of us stranded.

"Zat vas strange, even for England," said Prussia.

"And you haven't even gotten to the part where he summons Russia…" I groaned.

Prussia spun around. "Vait, he does zat?!" he said, startled.

"Only when he tries to summon the devil, which is only when he wants to curse someone."

"Ah."

"So… who's driving us?"

X

As it turned out, Prussia was the only one with a car big enough to fit all of us, so we all piled into it. Italy and Romano had a Ferrari, but none of us thought that it would be a good idea to show it off. Belarus and Spain had walked, and I was already living here, so neither of us had cars.

Privet Drive was pretty darn boring, I'd say. Cookie-cutter houses, shaved lawns, and not a tree in sight. "Vot kind of a place is zis?" Prussia complained after he got out of the car.

"Hey, it's better than nothing," said Spain.

"I can live with it," said Belarus.

"Ve! I wonder who England set us up with…" said Italy.

"I hope it's not Potato Jerk," said Romano.

I rummaged through my pockets for the keys. "Here we go," I said, and clicked open the lock.

Across the hallway, in the kitchen, was Hungary. She was doing dishes.

I could almost hear Prussia's silent cursing.

Hungary put down the sponge, and waited for us to come in.

"Ve~! Sorella!" Italy flung himself onto her.

"Italy!" she cried, and hugged him back.

"You're the one who's going to look after us?" said Belarus incredulously.

"Igen," she said, which I was sure meant yes.

Prussia had recovered rather quickly, and stopped cursing. "So… vot now?"

Hungary looked at our bags. "I cleaned the house already, so don't vorry about zat, but you should settle in before it's too late. Mrs. Dursley next door asked me out to tea, so you're going to have to do it all on your own. Viszontlátásra!"

She slipped past us and walked out the door, leaving us standing there. "So… vot now?" said Prussia.

"Make the beds, I guess?" I suggested. "By the way, did Hungary say 'goodbye'?"

"She did," confirmed Romano. "I thought that you could translate."

"Not as well as you can," I retorted. "Anyway, Hungarian is harder for me. You know how it's the only European language that's not Indo-European?"

"But you have an instant translator, don't you?"

"Not as good as yours. I'm never quite sure if what I hear is correct."

Prussia shrugged. "I'm going to unpack," he announced. "You should go, too."

We looked at one another. "He has a point," grumbled Belarus.

"Hey, we can always go outside later!" Spain said optimistically. "Come on, it'll be fun!"

"Fun?" Romano mouthed as Spain skipped upstairs. "The word 'fun' is perfect for a situation where we were dumped here and can't go home."

"Ve~ I knew you'd cheer up eventually!"

"That was sarcasm, idiota."

X (Snape POV)

I examined the pair with impassive eyes. One tall, one medium height. One with glasses, one without. Both foreign, that was clear enough. "So you two are new teachers?" I asked. "Are you sure that you are… up to the task?"

The one with glasses glared at me. "I am sure zat I am fully capable," he said. "Ze piano is my life."

The taller one nodded vigorously. "I can vork…" he said.

I looked at the papers. "And there are two more teachers coming in?" I asked.

The taller one shrugged. "I did not know. What subject will they teach?"

"Muggle Studies, same as you. And you," I said to the one with glasses, "want to be the music teacher."

"Ja," he said.

"You are aware of the…security concerns at Hogwarts, am I correct?" I asked. Both nodded. I picked up two glass vials from my desk. "These are Truth Potions."

"So you are making sure zat ve vill not betray you?" the tall one said perceptively.

"Exactly. This potion will not knock you out and force you into a state where you automatically answer all questions asked, unlike Veritaserum, but you can only tell the truth."

The duo looked at one another. A silent exchange went through between them, and they nodded. "Herr Snape," said the piano man. "Promise me zis. Zere are some tings zat cannot leave zis room. It has nottink to do vis your… Death Eaters, but it is a secret zat ve must keep."

A secret? I wondered, but I left my gaze impassive. "Let me hear your secret first, and if you have a reasonable explanation, then I will keep it."

The taller man shifted, but the glasses man remained stoically calm. "Fine. On your terms, zen."

The Muggle Studies teacher was about to open his mouth in protest, but decided against it. "If you are sure, zen I vill drink too."

Both drank their potions.

"Now then," I asked. "What are your names?"

The answers they gave were completely unexpected. And mental. If they weren't on Truth Potion, and if it weren't for their expressions of dire solemnity, then I would have immediately sent them to Saint Mungo's.

X

A boy sat on a chair in an airport terminal, reading a romance novel. A quick glance judged him to be about nine years old, but a closer look at his face confirmed that he was indeed older. Thirteen, fourteen, maybe even fifteen.

But no matter how anyone there looked at him, no one would have been able to guess his true age. Not even he knew the exact date, or even the exact century. He and the others guessed that he was about eight hundred, give or take.

Even so, a child would have a hard time getting a flight to another country. One would think…

But virtually no one saw him. The people confirming passengers for flights didn't even see him. The hustlers selling their goods didn't even bother asking him. Even the man who was supposed to ask people for their passports let him slip past the gates without a second thought. No one in line seemed to notice the boy who walked past. The metal detectors didn't even beep despite the contents of his bags… and his clothing. As for his fellow passengers in the terminal… they just assumed, judging by his many bags, that his parents were in the bathroom and he was waiting for them. [2]

Except for one man. Jack Silver, born and raised in America, recently transferred by his to a God-knows-where country in Europe, and now to the U.K. He was the first one to arrive at Terminal D, and had just realized that he left his novel in with the rest of his luggage. His luggage, on the other hand, was already on board the plane. All his bag held in the way of entertainment was his textbook in the local language (he had no idea that it wasn't Russian, and he got some incredibly nasty looks from the locals. One even threw a beet at him), which he no longer had any need for now that he'd mastered the art of pantomime. (He was particularly proud of his 'I-have-to-go-to-the-bathroom' one. It involved lots of squatting down and groaning.)

So he settled for people-watching. First, a newlywed couple had settled down, giggling. Next, an old woman who actually turned out to just be resting for a moment, as she got up a few minutes later.

And then came the boy. The old woman had long left, and the couple was too engrossed in each other to notice, let alone care. But Jack noticed. He noticed that the kid wasn't that young, just very, very short for his age and probably malnourished. He noticed the three bags that he struggled with, and how he laid them down on the chairs next to him as if to pretend that he was waiting for his parents. He noticed that no one else seemed to even see him. The man sitting next to him let his gaze slip past him. Even as the terminal filled, not a single person, no matter, how tired they were, asked him to move his bags.

Jack watched many other people come in and out, but no one claimed the two seats on either side of the boy. When the plane finally came in and the passengers permitted to board, the boy was still unaccompanied. Even so, he picked up his bags and walked towards the gate, as if he was expecting this to happen.

No. It wasn't expectation. Or even certainty. That would imply that there was at least a shred doubt somewhere. This kid… it was more like he planned this. His parents weren't here at all, and he knew it. A runaway, eh?

But if he is one, than why is he going by plane? And why isn't he nervous about this? You'd think that anyone leaving home would be at least a little upset. And at his age…

He waited and watched as the kid handed the ticket man his ticket. The man didn't even bat an eye at the kid.

This was a little strange… "Hey," he asked the ticket man, hoping that he spoke English. "That kid… did you just let him through?"

The guy looked at him funny, and spoke in slow English. "I… did not…see…? Boy… he comes… sometimes? I cannot remember… Once? Twice? He comes and goes… slips through my mind." (**A/N Okay, this probably isn't a very convincing accent for this part of Europe, but remember that if this guy can speak English this fast (for an amateur, that is), then he probably got the pronunciation nailed**)

He's seen the kid before? "What about his parents?" asked Jack.

The guy blanked. "Parents…? I have never… seen them."

Wait, what? Common sense overridden, he chased after the boy.

The kid was easy enough to find. The plane was small, and it just so happened that there were only two seats left. One in the front, and another way in the back, right where the kid just decided to sit.

Let's see… convenience, or answers? Then again, the back IS closer to the bathroom…

Jack dragged his bag all the way to the back, where the kid was absorbed into his book. _Romeo and Juliet_?

He settled down next to him and buckled in. The kid wasn't paying attention.

"Hi, kid," he said.

He turned. "Ko tu teici? Es nerunāju angliski," he said. (**What did you say? I do not speak English**)

Jack rolled his eyes. "Kid, I have no idea what you just said, but you can't fool me into thinking that you can't speak English," he said. "No one who doesn't know any English can possibly read Shakespeare. Even I have trouble with it… and that one that you're reading doesn't even have modern translations."

The kid shifted uncomfortably for a moment as the plane speeded through the runway. "I hate this part…" he grumbled. With a jerk, the plane lifted off the ground and the boy visibly winced.

"So," Jack said after the boy recovered. "How old are you, kid?"

"… Fifteen…" he said shyly. "B-but I'm just short…"

Jack could believe that he was fifteen, but barely. "Uh-huh… where are your parents?"

"They… I'm going on ahead, they'll catch up later," the kid said quickly.

Jack eyed him with suspicion. "How many times?"

"Oh… a few times." The kid was fidgeting, an act noteworthy of some suspicion in Jack's eyes.

"How many times have your parents come with you?"

The kid knew he was cornered. Jack saw it in his eyes. "A runaway, are you?" he said.

The kid slunk back, and sighed. "I'm an orphan," he said. "I never had any parents."

"But why do you keep coming to this airport?" Jack persisted. "And why did you pretend not to speak English?"

The boy's expression transformed into one of extreme focus, and Jack suddenly had the feeling that his mind was being scanned by a gigantic rock full of emotions and-

"You don't know it, but your great-grandfather was one of mine," said the kid. But in Jack's eyes, he was no longer a kid… he had the body of one, but he wasn't. He was something much older, not even human…

The kid snapped his fingers in Jack's face. "Aizmirstiet to, ko jūs redzēja, teica, un dzirdējis," he said. (**Forget what you saw, said, and heard**.)

Jack instantly fell asleep. Latvia shifted. He wasn't allowed to do that unless he had a good reason, which this definitely applied. Even so, he always felt guilty modifying people's memories.

X

Far away, but not too far away on a global scale, a young man sat at a computer. He stared at the screen for a while, processing what it said. "England's house? That seems like a decently random and irrational place to go… After all, who else would be there? Besides England, I mean."

He shrugged, and filled out the form laid on the desk in front of him. It was supposed to help me find a job while he was there.

Unfortunately, had Estonia bothered to read what the paper actually said; then he would not have turned up in a castle in Scotland with absolutely no idea what was going on.

TO BE CONTINUED!

[1] Cibatta mafia, kidnapping Romano- In The Rite of Passage, one of my other fics, Romano was mentioned to be kidnapped by the Cibatta mafia, setting the events of the fanfiction in place.

[2] Latvia in the airport, invisible- If a nation doesn't want to be seen, and no one really cares; then they can slip through their people's line of vision. Not to mention that everyone would be so busy that they probably wouldn't notice a kid walking around…

Who are the two Snape is interviewing? What are Estonia and Latvia doing? And how will Harry react to the nation neighbors?


	2. Chapter 2

Bit of clarification here. You see the cover picture? Prussia's holding his sword in his right hand. Yeah… I drew that before I remembered that he's left-handed. Plus, I liked that picture and I didn't want to re-draw it. Mirroring the picture just made it look weird, especially since France's flag was already drawn on and that would have been mirrored too. Not to mention… That's France in the middle. He's transparent to reflect the fact that he's not part of the main cast. Gilbird was there, but since can only do 2x3, he got cut out.

The original summary was actually written like an actual recipe, but I changed it since it was too vague. The title came from the line, "That can only lead to disaster and hilarity," from "A Very Potter Musical", and the fact that I liked the recipe idea.

Dudley's gang is named in _Sorcerer's Stone_, but I may have missed a few.

Policy: I don't translate curse words.

In Which Harry Meets his New Neighbors

My spying activities were interrupted by a knock on the front door. Aunt Petunia had asked Ms. Number Three to tea earlier, so it was probably her. With a creak, the door opened and Ms. Number Three entered.

With nothing else to do, I cocked my head down to the floorboards. Eavesdropping wasn't one of my hobbies, but after three weeks of boredom…

"…And I'm sorry so about the horrid state of the neighborhood," Aunt Petunia's voice rang out shrilly. "My own nephew is a delinquent, and I saw that you were visited by a gang earlier… One of them dyed his hair _white_."

There was a sound like a chair moving backwards and someone standing up.

"Gilbert is my ex-husband's cousin," said a foreign female voice threateningly. Ms. Number Three was Hungarian? "But ve have known each other for years, and ve are _very_ close."

"B-but he dyed his hair-"

"It's natural."

There was an awkward pause. Ms. Number Three sat down. "Zis delinquent nephew of yours… How do you know zat he is a delinquent?"

Aunt Petunia pursed her lips (or at least, I was sure that she was), and said stiffly, "I know what he gets up to."

No more was said on this subject, and Aunt Petunia ventured, "So, you married at your age? What was your ex-husband like, Ms. Héderváry?"

Ms. Héderváry paused, and said, "It vas an arranged marriage, but I don't regret it. I may have been conflicted ven I vas married, but… I love Roderich."

Aunt Petunia shifted, and said, "I have been happily married for almost twenty years," she said proudly.

"Yes, I've seen your son," said Ms. Héderváry. "He looks like an intelligent young man."

I stifled a laugh. Dudley? Intelligent? She must be blind.

"He certainly takes after you…Are you feeding him right? He looks like he's been starved for ze past few weeks…"

I almost choked as she realized that she was talking about me. I looked like Aunt Petunia? Then again, she was my mother's sister.

Aunt Petunia made a clucking noise. "That is my nephew, Harry. The delinquent. THIS is my son, Dudley. Duddy-kins!" she called.

Dudley rambled his way downstairs from the next room over. "Say hello to Ms. Héderváry," ordered Aunt Petunia.

"Hello," repeated Dudley dumbly. "I'm going out to—uh… tea, yes! Tea—with my friends right now."

I almost scoffed at the horribly transparent excuse that Dudley made. Tea?

"Hello, Dudley," said Ms. Héderváry. She could barely conceal the distaste in her voice. The door creaked open and shut, and Dudley's voice had vanished.

I could hear several other voices, including a harsh one speaking German and a lighter toned one speaking Spanish. Peering out the window, I could clearly see the new neighbors dragging their bags into the house and hear Ms. Héderváry at the same time. "That's Antonio on ze left," said Ms. Héderváry. "Antonio is Roderich's old friend; they've known each other for ages. They actually got married once, of course that was before I married Roderich."

"Wait, what was that?"

"Feliciano and Lovino are the brothers," Ms. Héderváry ploughed on. "Feli is the one whose eyes are closed. Zey are my little brothers, Peter is the little brother of a friend of mine; I'm looking after him for ze time being. He's ze vone vis ze hat."

"Who's that young lady?" said Aunt Petunia in sarcastic tones. I shifted my gaze towards the girl in the dress.

Ms. Héderváry barely concealed a giggle, and said, "Zat's Natalya, she's… ze sister of vone of my… former employers."

"Well, she looks respectable," said Aunt Petunia.

Ms. Héderváry tried not to giggle again.

"Are you… okay?" asked Aunt Petunia.

"I'm fine," said Ms. Héderváry.

The conversation from that point was, well… boring.

"I have to go help ze others move," Ms. Héderváry said once they finished. "Goodbye!"

"Goodbye," said Aunt Petunia.

Ms. Héderváry left, and Aunt Petunia muttered something about 'young women these days, playing at marriage as if it was some kind of game'.

Time to go have some tea of my own. I clamored downstairs into the kitchen, and set the kitchen up for tea. When I sat down to read the paper, I jumped up almost immediately. Instead of the cushions that I came to expect, there was an unfamiliar bag there. Unlike Aunt Petunia's dull red handbags, this was a messenger bag that was clearly loved. Embroidery stitched every inch of cloth, and the leather straps were polished to perfection. Was this Ms. Héderváry's bag?

Ms. Héderváry lived next door, didn't she? I could just catch her, and return her bag, couldn't I?

I hefted the bag up with difficulty. What did she have in there, frying pans? With two hands carrying the bag, I scuttled out the door.

By the time I walked the short distance from the Dursley's house to Number Three, I was already out of breath. Relief spun through my head as I knocked on the door, finally able to put the immensely heavy bag down.

Rather than the foreign woman I was expecting, the door was answered by a silver haired… man, for lack of a better word. He was older than me, so he was too old to be called a boy, but not old enough to be called a man. Gilbert, Ms. Héderváry's ex-husband's cousin, I remembered.

"Vot do you vant?" he asked in a thick yet easily understood German accent.

I grasped for the bag's handle. "Ms. Héderváry left this behind," I explained.

Gilbert stared at it. "Zis is Elizabeta's? Huh." He lifted it up and examined it, testing the weight. "She keeps frying pans in here, did you know zat? No vunder it's so heavy."

_Coming from a guy who's holding it in one hand like it's nothing_, I thought dryly.

Gilbert looked up at me. "So you are our next-door neighbor- oh, scheiße."

His eyes were red.

Just like Voldemort's…

For a split second, I was back in the graveyard-

"_Harry, take my body back…Take it back to my parents…"_

"_Hold the connection!"_

"_HARRY POTTER!"_

_SLAP_!

The next thing I knew, I was lying spread-eagled on the ground, my face pounding and my skull aching.

"Sorry," said Gilbert. "You looking like you vere freaking out, so… I hit you." He knelt down and helped me up. "It vas my eyes, vasn't it?"

"S-sorry…" I said.

"It's okay," he said offhandedly. "Trust me, your reaction vasn't ze vurst I have seen. Somevone vonce tried to drive a stake through my heart… AND since I vorked at ze only hospital in ze area at ze time, I had to set his bones _and_ bandage him _and_ give him mouth-to-mouth."

Gilbert did all _that_ to someone? Not just help him recover, but beat him up to _that_ extent?

"Hey, calm down, kid," Gilbert said. "I'm too awesome to pick a fight for no reason. Unlike zat stupid boy who's trying to mug _Peter_… By ze vay, vot's your name?"

"Harry. Harry Potter," I said. Why did I say my full name? Was it in the hope that this guy, who didn't react to my scar, was a wizard?

"Gilbert Beilschmidt. I come from Germany."

He grabbed my arm and dragged me inside.

"H-hey, wait!" I said, but Gilbert ignored me.

"Trust me, it'll be awesome. Just not as awesome as I am."

_That was a strange comment_… I never had time to notice, but the layout of all the houses on Privet Drive were exactly the same, just like the cookie-cutter outsides. I had been handed over to Mrs. Figg's house when I was younger, but her house was so filled with cats and tapestries that I couldn't see the actual layout. Gilbert led me to where my bedroom would have been, and opened the door.

"Apaga las luces…" complained a muffled voice. It was coming from the bed. (**Turn out the lights**…)

Without even acknowledging the voice, Gilbert hit the light switch. "Vot did you do to get zis tired, Antonio?" he said lazily, yet good-naturedly. "I vas ze vone who cleaned ze whole room."

There was a yawn, and a sleepy…boy, for lack of a better word, sat up, the sheets sliding off of him. "That was only because you didn't let me touch anything…" he said in a Spanish accent. "You and your neat-freak habits…"

"I just like to stay clean!" snapped Gilbert, but he was grinning.

I glanced around the room. _'Clean'? More like polished… or military-regulation. That's the word. The only thing left ruffled was the bed, and that was because Antonio was sleeping in it._

"Anyvay, take a look at zis!" Gilbert pointed at a faraway spot. I had to squint to see. Gilbert handed me a pair of binoculars. "Vith your eyes, you probably can't see zat vell," he explained. "You're nearsighted, aren't you? I can tell by ze shape of your glasses."

I peered at the spot where he was pointing. As he said, Dudley was cornering yet another boy. I recognized him as the boy who came with Gilbert. "Zat's Peter. Vait for it…"

Peter said something, and kicked Dudley in the groin. And punched Malcolm in the face. Then threw Piers over his shoulder.

Gilbert was laughing. "See? I told you… Kesese!"

I stared at him openmouthed.

Gilbert slapped me hard on the back. "Lighten up! He deserved it, didn't he? You know as vell as I do."

I didn't say anything. After all, I DID curse Malfoy several times… but still, I was slightly disgusted at Gilbert's reaction.

Gilbert must have caught my expression, because he said, "You don't like it? Good. Zat means zat you're not a maniac."

"And you're not?" I caught myself saying before I could stop myself.

Gilbert shrugged. "I'm not denying it."

"Gilbert's… not exactly what you'd call normal," said Antonio sleepily. He rubbed his eyes. "He gets into fights a lot, and I don't think that he's really all that worried about people getting beaten up. What he thinks is normal isn't necessarily normal…"

Gilbert took this in good grace, and said, "Says ze homicidal maniac."

"Says the religious fanatic."

"Says the two idiots," said a disdainful girl standing in the doorway. _Natalya_, I remembered just in time. Natalya glared at Gilbert and Antonio, almost exactly like Professor MacGonagall when she got shirty with Wood. However, Gilbert and Antonio were quite nonplussed, so Natalya relented and sighed. "Look, you two already cleaned your room- no, _you_ cleaned your room," she added to Gilbert, who shrugged. "But we've got to go out shopping, so what do you want? AND NO BEER! I can't buy it legally here."

Gilbert shrugged, as if that last comment was directed towards him. He then rattled off a list of what sounded like grocery items to her in German, which Antonio added some Spanish to.

Natalya shrugged irritably, and spun around on her heel. "If you want that much, then it's going to come out of _your_ pocket," she muttered.

"Vot vas zat?!" Gilbert shouted.

"You really think that I can pay for all that with the econ—_money_ I have now?" she retorted. "And Antonio can't spare any. Elizabeta isn't here, Feliciano and Lovino run off at the sight of me, and Peter doesn't have enough. By process of elimination, you're the only one who's left. You got some from your brother back when the two of you reunited, didn't you?"

Gilbert opened his mouth to retort, but bit back his response.

"Don't worry about me paying you back, the groceries are your money in a different form," said Natalya.

_What… strange logic… and yet somehow plausible_, I thought.

"Oh, and if you try to try to get your money back by stealing from my wallet," Natalya added just before she left. "I'll rip your гробаны penis off."

That threat was enough to make Gilbert back down. I had no idea what гробаны meant, but it didn't really matter judging by the rest of that statement.

Either way, I was sure of one thing. Natalya was _bloody mental_. Ron would definitely have said that if he were here… I miss Ron. And Hermione. Even if they're not telling me anything…

"Vot's the matter, kid?" Gilbert asked. "You look upset. Someting get you down?"

"It's nothing," I said.

Gilbert shrugged. "Suit yourself…"

X

The next day, I went to the park to kill time. Surprisingly enough, everyone who lived at number three was there. Gilbert, Antonio, Natalya… I knew what Peter, Feliciano, and Lovino looked like from a distance, but I had never seen the young woman chatting with Feliciano in what sounded like Hungarian.

As I drew closer, she turned around and smiled. "So you are ze vone who brought my bag back, vos it?" she asked. That must have been Ms. Héderváry, I knew her voice from her tea with Aunt Petunia. "Köszönöm szépen!"

"That means, 'thank you so much'," said Gilbert.

"Y-you're welcome, Ms. Héderváry," I said, slightly embarrassed. Even if she was a few decades younger, she still reminded me of Mrs. Weasley.

Ms. Héderváry shrugged, and said, "I'm not zat much older zan you, you can call me Elizabeta."

I was shocked at this display of… well, familiarity. I had never known a single non-family adult who I didn't go to school with—and even then some—whom I knew on a first-name basis. Well, except Sirius. But he was family, too. "H-hello then, E-Elizabeta."

Gilbert nudged her. "Oi, I sink you've stepped over some kind of boundary. Come to sink of it, you've never actually been introduced to any of us. Except for ze-"

"Don't say it," groaned Elizabeta, but Gilbert continued.

"Awesome me."

What was with this guy? He's just like Malfoy-

No, he's not like Malfoy. Admittedly, they _are_ both pale, have a slightly drawling voice, and like watching unpleasant things happening to people, but… Gilbert treats his friend like a friend, not a bodyguard.

Yes, he is arrogant, but it's not because his father's rich or he's pure-blood or anything. I don't know the reason why, but whatever the reason is, he's justified. He thinks he's better than everyone else because he is.

No, wait. That's not it either. He doesn't think he's better than everybody else, he just thinks that he's… awesome.

Gilbert is Gilbert. That's all.

"Say, we never got to hear your name this whole time," said Antonio, breaking me from my thoughts. "I'm Antonio, by the way. Antonio Fernandez Carriedo."

"Harry. Harry Potter," I said.

Natalya turned around and said, "Natalya Arlovskaya."

Ar-what now? "Ar-ov-skya?" I attempted.

She shrugged. "Close enough for someone who's never seen it written down. Just call me Natalya; it'll be easier on all of us."

"I'm Peter Kirkland," said Peter.

"Ve~ I'm Feliciano!" said Feliciano. "My last name is Vargas~ oh, you can call me Feli if you want-"

"SHUT UP!" said the last one. Lovino, I thought. Feliciano cowed behind him, and Lovino '"muttered, "The name's Lovino, and do NOT call me Lovi! I'm this idiota's older brother."

"Ve~ but we're twins," said Feli.

"Older _twin_ brother, then," said Lovino.

They said this as if they were settling something.

Natalya spotted my expression and said, "He's always like this. Don't worry; he's all bark and no bite. He won't hurt anyone."

Antonio put his arm around Lovino, who threw him over his shoulder.

"Except Antonio, who loves him," added Natalya.

"Ve, you shouldn't have done that…" said Feliciano. Lovino glared at him, and Feli shrank back.

"And Feliciano, who's his brother. But neither of them really fight back."

Ah. So that's what it was. Lovino was a bully. One who never got yelled at, or punished, maybe even encouraged. Just like Dudley.

Little did I know how wrong I was.

X

Over the week, I got to know my new neighbors pretty well.

At least, everyone except for Lovino. My opinion of him didn't change for a long time. Until that night… I'll get to that later.

Feliciano and Antonio were so nice to me that it was almost embarrassing, but they were such good people that I couldn't say it. Feliciano seemed way too childish for someone older than I was, and Antonio seemed just like him except more mature. But sometimes, he wouldn't come out of the house for days at a time. I didn't know why for the longest time.

Natalya was always angry, cold, or gloomy, but she treated me well enough. She didn't seem to like me very much, or dislike me, but if I had a question she would answer it.

Gilbert was an eternal paradox, not only in my eyes, but in Uncle Vernon's, too. To Uncle Vernon, he was the very picture of delinquency. He had white hair and red eyes (which he claimed was natural), swore a lot, ran around with Antonio, and generally looked bad. But whenever Uncle Vernon came over to complain, Gilbert would be there, cleaning the house so well that it put Aunt Petunia to shame. Or ironing, or mowing the lawn, or whatever he did. And just when Uncle Vernon finally admitted that maybe he had been wrong during dinner one night, a wrench flew in through the dining room window and landed in Uncle Vernon's pudding. A little while later Gilbert arrived asking for it back.

Peter… despite being a happy kid, he always gave the impression that he knew more than he let on. When we met face-to-face for the second time, he stared at my scar for a second, much longer than what most Muggles did. When I asked him, he said it was nothing. Still, I heard something about blowing up my aunt…

Elizabeta invited me over to tea every so often, where I saw all the others. But, it was mainly Elizabeta who spoke.

Sometimes she'd talk about her ex-husband, Roderich. She spoke happily of him, ever enthusiastic. She never seemed to have a picture on her, but I had a good idea of him. Elizabeta and Roderich were just like a high school couple from a movie. Roderich was a shy, bullied kid who had a crush on Elizabeta, the girl out of his league. Somehow true love prevailed, and… That's what it seemed like.

Even when Elizabeta was out doing whatever, I saw the others in the park playing football (**not the American kind**) or just chatting in German or Spanish or Italian or Belorussian, whatever they spoke. It was on these occasions that Dudley found out what a bad idea it was to mess with them.

After Peter, they picked out the one who seemed like the next weakest: Natalya.

Unfortunately, Natalya was, as some people put it, a nutjob.

Ron would call her 'bloody mental'.

When Dudley and his gang tried to mug her, she pulled a knife on them. It wasn't a kitchen knife, or even a pocketknife. It was a hunting knife, just a few centimeters longer than my wand. Dennis was the only one stupid enough not to be afraid, and tried to grab it off of her, thinking that she wouldn't know how to use it.

Natalya did. Within a split second, Dennis was on the ground, cut in several places and with the heavy knife at his neck. I had to admit, Dudley wasn't a coward. He shouted at Natalya to let his friend go.

She shouted that if he wanted his friend to still be able to consider himself a man, he wouldn't take another step. He didn't. Slowly, she slid the knife away from Dennis's neck, and sheathed it somewhere on her person. She then got to her feet, and gave one last threat before walking off. She said that if they came after her one more time; then they'd live their lives forever castrated.

Needless to say, they ran off screaming.

I wasn't present for the time they tried to jump Elizabeta, but Dudley later told us at the dinner table that he had a boxing match with her. Surprisingly enough, that was the exact same story Elizabeta fed me the next day. When I asked her who won, she said that it didn't matter because she taught Dudley a lesson. I asked her what it was. She smiled, and said that it was one that he wouldn't forget in a hurry.

The next time they came, they went after Antonio and Gilbert. I wasn't sure why they went after the two biggest guys; but the second Dudley grunted a threat, all of his gang was lying on the ground, groaning. Gilbert stood in the middle with his hands on his hips, and asked, "Haf you learned your lesson today? You haf? Gut."

Dudley managed to get back up somehow. He scuttled his way to Gordon and dragged him back up. Piers got to his feet quickly and hefted up Malcolm, who slapped Dennis awake.

"But maybe you might need a little reteach…" Gilbert leered.

They scampered, screaming.

Antonio didn't do anything, I noticed. "Hey, Gilbert? Wasn't that a little much?" he asked.

Gilbert shrugged. "At least zey vill know better zan to mess vith people, now."

Antonio laughed. "Hah… you never change, do y- HAAACCK!"

His sigh became a sputtering cough. Antonio fell to his knees, choking.

"Antonio!" Gilbert knelt down at his friend's side. "Not again…" he moaned.

"What's wrong?!" I ran over to where they were and squatted down.

"It's nothing, don't worry about it," Gilbert said urgently. His flippant words were ill-suited to his tone; he would have been better served if he shouted, 'You're useless here, you can't do anything!'

"No otra vez …" Antonio managed to spit between spasms. (**Not again**…)

"Halt den Mund! You're coughing up blood here, don't even sink about talking!" Gilbert barked. (**Shut up**!)

"What's going on?!" I shouted.

"Tell you later, you can't do anysing about it!" Gilbert examined Antonio, for a moment becoming chillily calm.

And then he plunged his fist directly into Antonio's stomach.

"Guh…"

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING!?" I screeched.

"Calm down, I only knocked him out, he'll wake up in a few hours," said Gilbert.

"Isn't there anything I can do to help?" I asked lamely. I had a vague idea on how to make a potion for blood thinning, but aspirin did a better job.

He looked up straight at me. "Votever you do, do not call an ambulance! Zey do not know vot to do vith him."

Gilbert lifted the limp Antonio up bridal-style. "I'm going to treat him at our place. If anyone asks… make something up!"

He trotted off, his friend lying still in his arms. [1]

X

The next day, I went straight next door after breakfast. Feliciano answered the door and silently led me up to Gilbert and Antonio's room. Shakily, he opened the door.

Antonio was still unconscious. He lay on the bed, looking like he was just sleeping…

Lovino was sitting on a chair next to him, uncharacteristically gloomy. He didn't even utter a word of protest as his brother sat next to him. He even made room for him.

"Ve… Big Brother… he's been like this before… But never like this…" said Feli.

"But Gilbert said he'd be awake in a few hours yesterday, didn't he?" I asked wretchedly. "I mean, he should be all right by now…"

"He isn't," said Lovino bitterly. "Vital Regions Jerk came here yesterday with Tomato Jerk in his arms like they were married… He said that he had another attack; he had to knock him out to stop the bleeding… He hasn't woken up since."

I lowered my head. _Just like Hermione_, I thought. I could remember her bleached-pale face clearly, her icy skin, her blank stare…

"You two still worried about that guy?" Natalya interrupted.

Lovino glared at her, but didn't speak.

She shrugged. "You'll see what I mean."

She apathetically marched downstairs. A moment later, I heard the sizzling of cooking sausages.

Lovino's already depressed face turned sourer. "Odio salsicce," he said. (**I hate sausages**)

"No te preocupes por eso, tenemos un montón de tomates." (**Don't worry about that, we have plenty of tomatoes**.)

"Like that makes a difference, sausages… are…" Lovino trembled off.

"V-ve?!"

"Tomato Jerk!?"

I whirled around. Antonio was sitting up in his bed, yawning. "Ah… that was a good nap… how long have I been ou-GKK! Y-YOU'RE CHOKING M-"

"FOURTEEN HOURS! YOU'VE BEEN OUT FOR FOURTEEN HOURS! YOU-" Lovino erupted into rapid Italian that I was completely unable to follow.

"Smettila!" Feli screamed (**Stop it**!). "You're choking him~! STOOO~~P!"

"LIKE HELL I WILL!"

Feliciano ducked down and grabbed his brother by the waist. "HUG THERAPY~!"

"LET ME GO!"

"Ve! Not until you calm down~!"

"You-"

"Hahhahaha!" Someone put his arm over my shoulder from behind. I turned around. It was Gilbert. "Hah… Trust me, you'll never understand those two."

"And you do?" I asked dryly.

"Nope, I just understand that I'll never understand them."

"That doesn't make any sense!" said Peter from behind.

"Trust me, you'll get it when you're older," Gilbert said offhandedly.

Well, I did. _Like you're one to talk, Mr. Eternal Paradox! I have long given up on trying to understand you… I understood you even less than Feliciano and Lovino._

And then Lovino calmed down and finally apologized (through gritted teeth, even though he was blushing) to Antonio, and Antonio accepted and said he was cute and hugged him around the waist. Lovino turned as red as a tomato and slapped him, but was still blushing.

Ah… this somehow reminded me of Hogwarts… I wanted to go back, right then and there. I would have forgiven everyone, even Snape and Malfoy. Heck, I would even _kiss_ Malfoy if I could… wait, no, not that far. Ron, maybe. _Maybe_. Hermione would be violating.

Little did I know that these peaceful days would come to an end much quicker than I imagined.

X (? POV)

I walked down the castle corridor next to Austria, smiling. "Ah… we got the jobs…" I said.

Austria shrugged. "As long as I get mein piano, I am fine. By ze vay, vy did you vant a job here?"

I stopped. "Austria… do you know about Spurgos?"

"Nein, I haf never heard zat name before. Vot is it?"

"A couple hundred years ago, a man named Spurgos declared himself a Dark Lord, right here in Britain."

"Spurgos… Zat means 'jelly donut' in your language, doesn't it?"

I nodded. "It _was_ a stupid name. But he was powerful. He actually spread his followers from here to my house… it was terrible. All of us in my house fought him. England apologized later, but I knew that we couldn't sit still the next time a Dark Lord rose, so we agreed that if another Dark Lord rises, then we'd help one another."

"Hm," said Austria.

"But why have you become a teacher?" I asked back.

"I vanted to show off my knowledge of music, and vere better zan in a classroom?" he replied. "I think we shocked zat man back zere. Snape, ja?"

"Taip." I sighed. "But, he seemed to recover… maybe he met England, or one of us before."

FLASHBACK (Snape POV)

"_My name is Republik Österreich," said the man with glasses. "But you haf to call me Roderich Edelstein."_

_I stared, but recovered. "Previous employment?" I asked levelly._

"_I am an anthropomorphic personification of the country known as Austria," he said simply. "I used to run ze Holy Roman Empire. I also have played ze piano for hundreds of years."_

"_Any talents?"_

"_Music."_

"_Any interests?"_

"_Music."_

"_Any hobbies?"_

"_Music."_

"_Are you afflicted with any condition?"_

"_I get lost a lot. Got a problem?"_

"_No, not really… Are you married?"_

"_I vas, vonce… to Hungary."_

"_How old are you?"_

_Roderich counted. "About nine hundred, I'd say."_

"_Thank you, now, what about you?" _

_The tall one opened his mouth to answer…_

FLASHBACK END

Now, if I didn't meet England in a pub all these years ago, I would never have believed them.

That reminds me…

I chased after the pair, and just barely caught them at the Greenhouses. "Vot do you vant?" asked Roderich.

"The Headmaster wants me to ask you if you could do something for him?"

"What is it?" asked the tall one, I couldn't remember his name.

"He wants you to go to this location." I handed them the paper with the location written on it- folded, to prevent them from seeing it before they accepted.

Roderich eyed me suspiciously. "Vill I be able to have a piano at zis location?"

"Probably not. It hasn't been cleaned in decades."

At my words, the taller man straightened up. "I'm good at cleaning, if that's what you need…"

Good at cleaning? Well, he did say that he used to be a- never mind. "In that case, here." I handed him the paper.

He unfolded it. "What's the-"

"Never mind, I'll tell you later."

"Will they mind if I have a dog?" he asked.

"You have… a dog?"

"Er… yes…"

"I do not think that they will mind." Inwardly, I smiled at the thought of Sirius having to deal with another dog in the house.

He let of a sigh of relief. "Good…"

"Have you unpacked?" I asked.

"No, not yet… I wasn't sure if I was going to get the job in the first place, remember?"

"Then there will be no need to pack. You will leave at dawn tomorrow."

The tall man nodded. "Yes sir."

What was with this man? He seemed almost subservient…

Little did I know what he _could_ be like.

TO BE CONTINUED!

[1] Spain's condition- he's suffering from his economy. It's currently '95, so the economy is horrible.

Who is this mysterious figure (hint: not an OC!)? What does Harry mean by 'peaceful days coming to an end'? And what does he mean by he'd be happy to kiss Ron if it means going back to Hogwarts?


	3. Chapter 3

I remember how AK, UK, P went, so this time I'm making every chapter count! I'm trying to differentiate here!

Note that I have to modify dates and times for my own convenience.

Whoops… My computer froze when I was writing last chapter, so… the teaser's last line doesn't make any sense. I'll rectify it here.

Ah… I learned who Chiune Sugihara was the other day. There are some really great people in the world… Rest in Peace, Chiune Sugihara.

The attack and the subsequent house-to-house looting/murdering

(Romano POV)

Pain shot through every inch of my body as the fat boy slammed his fist into my stomach. "G-guh…"

I doubled over in agony. "C-can't… breathe…"

"VEE! Fratello!" screamed Veneziano.

"R-run…" I muttered.

"Ve?"

"RUN, YOU IDIOTA!" I roared.

"VE!"

WHAM! Before Veneziano could even start, one of Harry's cousin's goons grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and punched him in the back.

"Fratello!" I screamed.

"You don't have time to worry about him," said a voice from behind. A moment later, he grabbed both my arms into a Full Nelson Hold.

"Got him, Doc?" asked Harry's cousin. [1]

"As ever, Big D!"

WHAM! WHACK! BAM!

_Ugh… Again_? Another time, more bullies… except these are just kids. Not even nation kids; Wine Jerk and the others were (physically) younger than these kids were when they picked on us. And even then, it was so that they could own us. Or gain power, or whatever. It was their _job_. How could these _boys_ stand to pound other kids with no profit? Not even the mafia did that. When they did it, they did it for money, or power, or to tighten their grip over me. It would have been better if they stole something from me; then there would be a point. But all they're doing is beating us up…

"This is boring," said Harry's cousin at last. 'Doc', or whoever he was, released his hold over me. I crumpled to the ground. "Come on, gang, let's leave."

They mounted their pointlessly expensive racing bikes and pedaled off.

"Ve…" murmured Veneziano. He was lying on the ground next to me, strangely silent.

"Fratello…" I whispered back… "Sei ferito gravemente?" (**Are you hurt badly**?)

"… FRATELLO!" he screamed. "IT HURTS!"

He rolled over and hugged me tightly.

"Veneziano…" I muttered. I hugged him back, and then got the both of us to our feet. "Come on. We're going back."

Together we hobbled our way back to the house—none of us had ever thought of it as our home. I knew how to get there; fratello wasn't paying attention. We just had to go through the alleyway between the garage and the… something, and-

Cold.

Dark.

Nothingness…

"Oh, merda!" I cursed under my breath. There was only one being in the entire world that could create that atmosphere… Dementors!

"Ve? Wh-"

"Shut it!" I slapped my hand over Veneziano's mouth.

Dementors… I remembered them clearly. They fed on happiness and joy, and human souls… They couldn't take _our_ souls, but that wasn't necessary. Their ability to make us relive the past was enough.

Hah… Spain brought them over by accident back in his Conquistador days. Said that the Aztecs invented chocolate as an antidote for Dementor attacks…

"_Looks like you need a little lesson, kid."_

"_I just need a little bit of your land, okay?"_

"_Give up your house, and you won't get hurt."_

_Pain…_

_Death._

_Once again, I saw, heard, felt every single death of all of my people… Salazar's heart attack… Ms. Maria, gunned down behind her bar… _

I remembered the day I first encountered them… Spain had just come home from his daughter's house… well, one of his daughters… I think it was Mexico…

_Suffering._

After he hugged me, he said that he was tired and wanted to sleep on something that wasn't rocking…

_War._

_Shots rang out on all sides of me. The Italian Wars. The World Wars. Austrian Succession. Spanish Succession. Nordic raids. Even some of Grandpa Rome's…_

So I went down to the docks to pick up some of my goods, and… I went into that cabin.

_Pain._

I had heard that sometimes Spain stored his things in that cabin when there was nowhere else to store anything…

_Death. _

_Agony._

I was wrong. There was nothing in there but that. That… thing.

_AAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!_

"AAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAGHHHHHHHHGHGGGGH!"

"Expecto… Patronum!"

A… stag? A stag of light… A Patronus.

My vision…the stag… it was… blurring… The light began to fade… or was I the one who was fading? I don't know…

X

The next thing I knew, I was in a house. Not ours, Prussia cleaned ours so well that it was annoying. I could make out four figures, arguing in English… "…RUDDY OWLS!"

_Sniff_…

Just one sniffle was all it took. Fratello was right next to me, so close that we were almost nuzzling. He sniffled again. Tears streaked down his cheeks…

He let out a quiet wail. "Uwah…"

The figures stopped, and turned around.

"Sniff… fratello… Holy Roma…"

I leaned in closer. "Veneziano… Fratello…" I slid my arms around his waist and hugged him. "Fratello…" (**Brother**)

_Sniff_… "Fratello…" Veneziano sniffled back.

"There, there," I patted him on the back.

"Fratello… I remembered. I remembered everything…"

"I do. I do too."

"Fratello… It hurts," he whispered. "It hurts. Ithurtsithurtsithurts…"

A shadow moved behind Veneziano. Before I could even think, I sprung up and throttled it. "DON'T YOU DARE TOUCH MY BROTHER!" I screamed.

"G-i-it's me!" said the shadow. "H-Harry!"

My vision slowly blurred back to normal. "H-Harry?" I asked. "Wha-what happened to your glasses…?"

"They fell off," he said coldly. "After you choked me."

I looked down. "S-sorry…" I said.

"Eh? What was that?"

"I SAID I WAS SORRY, GLASSES JERK!"

I looked down again… "Sorry…"

"Ve… what were those things…?" Veneziano warbled.

Harry seemed at a loss for words. "Th- you were hit by a lorry-"

"Dementors." I said. "Don't screw with me, Glasses jerk. I know Dementors when I feel them."

At the word 'Dementors', Harry's family shuddered. "How… how do you know about… those… th-things…?" stuttered a bony woman.

Well, she may not be pretty… but she's a woman. "I'm sorry. I can't tell you," I said, as politely as I could manage.

"WELL, WHY CAN'T YOU TELL US?!" bellowed a man so fat that it was disgusting. "Speak! Do you think that you're guests here? That boy may have dragged the two of you here, but YOU'RE NOT WEL-"

"Oh, are _you_ so tough?" I snapped. "Your own nephew brought us in, and you're going to kick us out just like that? Well, Your mother is a ********************* Lorem ipsem **************** Admintum Venium** *********** Tragula ********** hippopotamus ********** republican *****************Daniel Radcliffe ******************* with a bucket of ************** in a castle far away where no one can hear you ******************** soup ************************** with a bucket of ******** Mickey Mouse ******** a stick of dynamite **************** magical ******************* _**Alakazam**_!" [2]

"Pii!"

Huh…? I ceased my stream of curses and looked up. Gilbird was hovering in the air, a note in his beak.

"What… WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS-"

"Gilbird," I answered. "He's Gilbert's bird. Yes, he really named his own bird that." Actually, he really didn't name Gilbird after himself. Back when he was still a hospital, he helped treat this man named Gilbert. And since Gilbert was the first patient who didn't accuse him of being a witch/demon/whatever they were thinking at the time about albinos at the time (he's probably not albino, he just looks like one), Prussia named his bird after him. And later he took the name Gilbert, which led to some unfortunate implications about him being arrogant. Which he was. But that had nothing to do with Gilbird.

"He named his bird after himself," said Harry, making the logical conclusion.

"He didn't. I'll tell you the whole story some other day."

"WHAT IS THIS BIRD DOING-"

"You didn't see the note, did you?" I picked the note off of Gilbird. Most of it was in German and in Prussia's handwriting, although I did detect some Spanish. I translated it aloud.

"_Hallo, Good evening, and general salutations. I am the awesome Gilbert and I want to know where Feli and Lovi are. If you have them, come over here with them. If you know where they are, come over and tell us. If you do not know, _then your blood shall fertilize your gardens forevermore_ Sorry about that. Then you will come over and tell us that you don't know. P.S. Be sure to lock your doors at night. P.S.S. I AM AWESOME_! P.S.S.S. Your heads would look very nice on a stake."

I peered at the note. Wait… that handwriting… It was Spain's, except… he only wrote in this script back when he was a Conquistador… or when he was feeling genocidal.

Plus, it was written in blood. God knows where he got it.

"Give me that!" said the obese man, grabbing it out of my hands. "Wh-what!? It's in German… and is that _blood_!?"

"It is," I said. "Look, what are you hiding? I know Dementors when I feel them. And I know that _you_ know what they are. What I want to know is why. Why did you try to hide it from me, Harry? Why?"

X (Harry POV)

Lovino wasn't furious. He wasn't angry with me at all. He was… pleading? It wasn't as if he was on bended knee, but his eyes said it all.

I wanted to tell him. But I couldn't. "I… can't." I said. "I can't." If I did, then I'd get into more trouble than I already was… "I'm sorry, Lovino. If I tell you… they'll…"

Lovino looked at me with… not pity. Empathy. "Someone's holding something over your head, then. I won't pry. At least… not from you."

And with those strange words, he got Feliciano to his feet. "Andiamo, andiamo," he said. (**Come on, let's go**). Together, the two brothers made for the door; Feliciano clinging tightly to Lovino's arm and scuttling.

"W-WAIT!" screeched Uncle Vernon. "I'm not finished with you, boy! S-stop moving! You will come back and-"

Lovino turned around slowly. And glared. Uncle Vernon shrank back. Strange… Lovino isn't like Hagrid at all, and yet Uncle Vernon acted just like he did back when I first met Hagrid…

Uncle Vernon recovered as soon as Lovino turned his back. "Come back, you-"

Lovino spun around, and-

BAM. There was a crack like a gunshot- no, wait! That really was a- Lovino had- Lovino had a gun!

Lovino may have held the gun in his left hand, but he hit his mark: barely gazing Uncle Vernon's right cheek. Not to mention that he held the gun sideways…

As Uncle Vernon stared in shock, Lovino turned around and said, "Let that be a lesson to you, idiota," Lovino muttered as he turned the doorknob.

He opened it fully, and just before closing it, he turned around again. "Harry. I will find out. Everything."

And with these words, the door slammed shut.

X

Prussia looked at his bedmate, trying hard to make it so that said bedmate didn't notice. At this time… it was especially important to _not_ make eye contact… When he got like this…

Spain looked up from sharpening his axe. "Hey, Prussia… just so you know… _there _will_ be blood tonight_…"

Prussia shuddered. _Ah… If he's like this… if we're going to do what he's planning, I might as well go along with it. Looting houses… Ah, that really brings me back._

X (Back to Harry)

The Dursleys drove off, going who knows where for who knows why. Not that it mattered… I was going on trial. I was never going to see Ron or Hermione again…

I would have done anything to go back to Hogwarts. Even kiss Snape. Well, maybe not Snape. But definitely Malfoy.

The front door opened with a creak. That's odd… I could have sworn that the door was locked. Voices… Those were probably not burglars; burglars would keep their voices down.

I got out of bed and crept out of my room. Those voices… I've heard them before… Professor Lupin?

I stopped creeping and stood up straight. If it was Professor Lupin, then I was safe… I reached the end of the hallway and peered down the stairs. Just as I thought, Professor Lupin was down there… and so was Professor Moody. There were also a lot of people that I didn't know, but if they were with Lupin and Moody… What if that really wasn't them?

"Hey! You!" Professor Moody lifted his head and looked at me with his one good eye.

"Professor Moody?" I asked uncertainly.

Moody grunted. "Never got around to teaching, did I?" He turned to Professor Lupin. "Is that him?"

Professor Lupin nodded. "That's him."

Moody grunted. "Could be a disguise… Pretend to be Harry Potter while his buddies curse us from behind."

A purple-haired witch popped up and looked at Moody with an incredulous look. "Are you sure? There's no one else here. Are you just being paranoid again, Mad-Eye?"

Moody jerked to the left. His magical eye spun every which way. "No… I can't see anyone here, but… someone's here. I can feel it."

The witch sighed. "Honestly, Mad-Eye, you'd think we're in a dragon's nest or something. It's your eye; if you can't see anything, it's not there."

Moody's eye stopped, but he still looked suspicious. Once again, he fixed me with his normal eye. "How do we know that you're the real Harry Potter, eh?"

"Harry, what animal comes out when you produce a Patronus?" asked Professor Lupin promptly.

"A stag," I said.

"That's the real one, Moody."

I took this as permission to go down the stairs to join them. Lupin slowly introduced me to each of the wizards and witches in turn. "That's Kingsley Shacklebolt… You've already met Moody… That's Nym-"

"Don't you dare call me by that name!" snapped the purple haired witch.

"Who prefers to be called by her surname, Tonks," Lupin finished.

"You would be too, if your fool of a mother gave _you_ the name_ Nymphadora_."

Moody sniffed the air. "All right, so you are the real Potter. Then who's lurking over- THERE!"

He shot a blazing jet of light at a random spot on the wall. The wallpaper sizzled, but there was no one there.

_Clink_.

Tonks spun around on her heel and sneezed, "_Expergiscendum_!" (**Awaken**)

The spell fired without being aimed, and ricocheted off the walls and off the ceiling-

"_AAAGGGQPTEHIAHGSDKDE!_"

All eyes were on the space directly behind the couch in the parlor. That scream… that voice… where did I hear that before? It sounded like someone screaming and vomiting at the same time…

"What was that?" said Tonks as she took one step towards the couch-

And tripped. Over her own feet.

There was a flash of steel, and the entire couch was sliced neatly in two. Lengthwise. And not just the couch. A lamp on the table unfortunate enough to rest next to it was also cleaved perfectly, and the wall was irreparably scarred.

At first only the tip of the blade showed up from behind the couch, but as the top half of the couch slid downwards, its wielder slowly became visible.

The first thing we saw was a head of silver hair…

Gilbert Beilschmidt was crouching behind the couch. And holding a sword a good foot taller than he was. Over his shoulder. Over his other shoulder was a bag stuffed full of… something. Entirely nonplussed, he stood up with both the sword and the sack still over his shoulders and took a deep breath. "Ze hell are you doing here?!"

I gaped at him. "THIS IS MY BLOODY HOUSE!" I shouted.

Gilbert waved an arm. "I'm not talking about _you_, Harry. Vot I mean is, who ze hell are _you_ people!?"

Moody glared at him with both of his eyes. "Shouldn't you tell us your name first, boy?!"

Gilbert sighed, and said, "Gilbert Beilschmidt. I'm Harry's neighbor. I come from East Germany, I love vurst und potatoes, I hate Austria, _I haf a sword zat is taller than I am und I can use in much better zan you can use your vands_. Any questions?"

"Why do you hate Austria?" asked Tonks.

"Gah, it's a long story."

I moved closer. "Careful, Harry," Lupin whispered.

"He won't hurt me. He's my neighbor," I answered. I cocked my head. Was that…? "You brought Antonio here?"

Antonio was lying stomach-down, spread-eagled on the carpet. He was gripping a gigantic axe tightly in one hand, although it didn't appear that he was capable of lifting it. I peered closer. The carpet was a pale cream colour, so I could see that there was no blood. But he was still… stock still…

I looked up and glared at Gilbert. "You took a bedridden-"

Gilbert shrugged me off. "Vasn't my idea." He began to absentmindedly tug at the axe. It wouldn't budge. "Besides, _you_ vere ze vone who hit him vith zat spell!"

Tonks's eyes widened and said, "That was an actual spell!? I'm sorry, I just sneezed…"

"Expergiscendum. Zat means 'avaken' in Latin. Do you know vot you just did!?"

Tonks shook her head. "How should I know!?"

Gilbert shrugged. "I don't know either, but he's alive. I'll ask Arthur about it later."

Moody fixed both his eyes on him again. "How do you know Arthur?"

Gilbert waved him off again. "May not be your Arthur. Zis guy's last name is Kirkland. Peter's older brother," he said to me. "You don't know him? Not all Arthurs are the same person, you know."

Tonks cocked her head. "What's in the sack? It looks heavy…"

"Glad you noticed," muttered Gilbert, and he swung the sack off his shoulder. It fell with a loud CLUNK. "Antonio und I vere raiding ze houses of ze boys who jumped Feli und Lovi earlier. All zis is from looting zeir houses."

"Don't you live right next door?" I asked. "Why is the sack so full?"

Gilbert shrugged. "It was my idea to go to ze furthest house first, und do ze closest last. Zay vay, I vouldn't haf to carry all zis stuff und valk all ze vay back. Antonio vanted to… traumatize your cousin und his gang, but I just vanted to come along for ze ride. Ze whole 'Break-into-ze-houses-of-ze-kids-who-jumped-Lovino -und-do-possibly-vorse-to-zem- idea' vas all him."

"You're telling us that all this was _Antonio's_ idea," I said, folding my arms. "Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, of all people. Who was bedridden just a few hours ago."

"Weirder things have happened," muttered Moody.

"And what's with the axe?" I gestured to the extremely heavy-looking axe. Antonio still held a tight grip on it, even with Gilbert trying to pry it out.

Gilbert sighed. "Kid, you haf _no_ idea. Antonio's not nearly as innocent as you might sink. Besides, your cousin und his gang mugged Lovino earlier… _do you haf any idea how much Antonio cares about him_!?"

I stepped back.

"No, you don't," said Gilbert. "I'm sorry about yelling at you; it's not your fault. But… Ja, it vas his idea. Trust me… he loves Lovino to so much zat he vas happy ven Lovino vanted to sleep vith him. No, not like zat!" he said, mostly for the benefit of the slightly disgusted wizards and witches. Tonks even pulled a face.

"Zat being said… Who ze hell are _you_?" Gilbert asked with unexpected ferocity. "You are vizards, I know zat. But _vot do you vant vith Harry_?"

Moody drew himself up to his full height. "We are here to bring him to safety."

"_Does if haf anysing to do vith ze Dementors_?"

This time not only Moody, but also Lupin glared at Gilbert. "How did you know about them?" Lupin asked in a raspy voice.

Gilbert didn't glare, but gave Lupin a sad look. "This isn't ze first time Lovino has been attacked by Dementors. But vy vere zey here?"

Moody shuffled. "That's what we want to know."

Gilbert nodded rather carelessly. "Harry,vere is ze drinks cabinet?"

"Why do you want to know?" Moody asked chillily.

"Because tonight, I intend to get vasted."

I pointed without thinking.

Before any of us could stop him, he walked into the kitchen and opened cabinets at random. "Ah. Here ve go…" he said, and laid down bottles and cans from the cabinet onto the counter. "Vine… bad beer… sake… rum… coke? You keep coke in a liquor cabinet…? More vine, vodka, old vine… A painting, seriously, how does zat even fit… Chocolate…? A greeting card written in polite German… Wodka? Samanė? A recording of Elizabeta's ex-husband singing…?! Ein, zwei, drei, vier? Vot is zat even counting…? Melon soda?! Churros!? How do zey not go rotten?!" [3] After shuffling through the bottles again, he finally picked out a bottle of "Good German beer" and took a sip.

"Hey!" shouted Moody. "What do you know about the Dementors!? Speak!"

Gilbert looked down at him and wielded the beer bottle threateningly. "Zis beer bottle is designed to be harder zan your skull. I haf trained in ze use of police batons for over a decade, _und ze only two sings zat are stopping me from bashing your skull into kingdom come is ze fact zat Harry is here, und ze fact zat it vould be a tremendous vaste of good beer_. Oh ja, und _I haf another bottle_."

He then drained the bottle held it by the neck. "Now zere is only vone reason."

"Call it two."

I spun around. The voice came from upstairs, and belonged to… "Natalya?"

Natalya, decked out in a dress and holding a knife in both hands, stood at the top of the stairs. "Your new second reason: I have multiple knives hidden-"

"Under your dress, inside your sleeves, shoes, socks, and bra," Gilbert finished, taking a sip of samanė. "Natalya, I do your laundry. Did you really sink zat I don't see ze sheathes your sister sewed in to all of your clothes? Zat's not a good enough reason. I am stronger zan you are, anyvay."

Natalya bristled. "Are you saying that I rank lower than beer?" she said testily.

Gilbert nodded, and drained a wodka bottle. "Und Harry. Not to mention ze fact zat everyvone here is armed also ranks higher."

Natalya sprang at him, but Gilbert blocked both of her knives with only his sword. One handed. "A vord to ze vise;" he said. "My sword is longer zan ze span of your arms, so as long as you are holding a knife in each hand, _I can block both of zem_."

Natalya was annoyed, but she sheathed her knives somewhere on her body. "So," she began. "Feli's still gibbering, and Lovino is actually _hugging_ him. Elizabeta is on the warpath, and I came here to get you two back. But who are these guys?"

She turned her head to the wizards.

Tonks looked at her strangely. "Who are you?" she asked. "And what's with the knives?"

"That's Natalya," I said. "She's… another one of my neighbors."

Lupin looked at her, and then at her knives. "Harry, do you have a single neighbor who doesn't use a sharp and pointy weapon whenever the mood strikes them?"

"Vell, zere is Elizabeta," Gilbert said for me. "But zat's only because she uses a heavy bludgeoning weapon venever she gets mad. The Frying Pan of Doom."

Tonks stared at him. "But zen again, Feliciano and Lovino are not zat violent," Gilbert added hastily. "I mean, Lovino is alvays angry, but he is never going to do anyvone any harm."

"I see…" Tonks said uncertainly.

"Zat is, unless you _really_ push him," Gilbert added as he started on the wine. "Zen he breaks out ze guns. Machine guns if he's… yeah. But zat only happened twice. Feliciano…? No, he can use a fencing foil unbelievably vell… not as good as I can vith zis," he spun his own zweihänder around, "but it's scary sometimes how somevone like him can use it vith zat much skill."

So even Feli has a weapon. "Surely Peter doesn't…?"

"Guns," Gilbert and Natalya said in unison.

"Guns aren't exactly… legal for an eleven year old to own, aren't they?" I asked. "You have to have a license, and you have to be at least fourteen to get one of those, don't you?" [4]

Gilbert shrugged. "I haf no idea. But he has zem. Oh, and don't bother trying to look, he hides zem pretty vel-"

"Look out!" I shrieked.

Natalya had leapt up onto the chandelier (it was made of metal, not glass), hooked both of her legs onto the arms, and swung; stabbing downwards so that both her knives were right where Gilbert's head was-

Gilbert parried her head with the same beer bottle that he threatened Mad-Eye with, effectively stopping her movement entirely. He then drained a rum bottle as if that had never happened. "Not a bad idea," he said, "but I'm just faster."

Natalya was dazed for a second, but recovered rapidly. "Haf you learned your lesson?" Gilbert asked.

Lupin grabbed Natalya's shoulder before she could spring at Gilbert. "Calm down," he said. "This boy is much stronger than you are. There's no point in fighting him anyway, is there?"

Natalya wrested out of his grasp and sprung at Gilbert again. Gilbert grinned. "Zat's the spirit!" he shouted, and drew his massive sword. Natalya rushed at him at an incredible speed, but he blocked every one of her knives.

Kingsley looked at Lupin. "Should we stop them?" he asked.

Lupin shrugged. "If they're anything like James and Sirius, then they'll stop in a moment."

At length, Gilbert stopped parrying and slashed at Natalya. "Ve should stop now," he said as she leapt back. "Haf you forgot about Antonio?"

I looked behind the couch, or at least where the remains of the couch were. Antonio still looked like he was knocked out, and this time he was muttering something unintelligible in Spanish.

Gilbert and Natalya stared at him for a while.

"He does look like he's in pain," Natalya admitted at last.

"My point exactly. Now let's go home."

Natalya bristled. "Not ye-"

Gilbert's arms and sword became a blur. The next thing I knew, Natalya was lying on her back, a long gash across her stomach. She looked more shocked than hurt.

"Do you know vy I did zat?" Gilbert asked quietly. Moody's wand was pointing directly at his head, but Gilbert didn't pay it any heed.

"I… hate you…" Natalya muttered.

"Heh… I'd be surprised if you didn't," said Gilbert. "Even if _you're_ not ze vone I hate. I just vant a good fight even if you vant to kill- all right, _seriously injure_ me."

Natalya spat. "You just want to get back at my brother, don't you," she said bitterly.

"Heh…" Gilbert smiled humorlessly. All of a sudden, his smile contorted into a sadistic grin. "If I really wanted to get back at you, zen I'd…"

Gilbert's eyes flashed like the twin pools of blood they resembled. "You vould be begging for ze mercy of death soon enough."

Natalya flinched. "N-normally I'd argue," she said as she recovered, "but you're right. I know what you mean." Her hands clenched into fists. "I can still remember _him_…"

"Gut. Now, why hasn't zat spell vorn off yet?"

Tonks looked confused. "I thought that most spells lasted for a long time."

Gilbert looked visibly shaken, but he said, "Antonio's special. He recovers from spell effects quickly. _Normally_, zat is."

Tonks blinked. "I've already said I was sorry!" she gaped.

"I never said I vas mad," Gilbert retorted. He hefted Natalya to her feet. "Ve're _leaving_. I know you can valk, so don't bother trying to get out of it. I'll get Antonio."

Lupin looked at him, but remained silent.

Gilbert lifted up Antonio bridal-style and strode out the door, and Natalya scuttled after him.

After the door shut behind them, Lupin spoke. "Gilbert… he seemed to have lost interest in us," he said. "Either that, or he already knows someone who knows…"

Moody grunted. "I knew that there was someone on the inside… That new kid. He looked suspicious, with all that bowing and scraping."

Lupin turned. "Are you talking about the new teacher?" he asked.

"That's the one."

"I've never seen him bow, but he has scraped food off of dishes before."

"I was being metaphorical, Tonks."

Lupin turned to me. "We're leaving this place," he said.

"Where are we going?" I asked. The Burrow? Hogwarts?

"We can't tell you," he said. "You'll find out soon enough."

"Get your broom," Moody ordered. "We're flying."

Flying…? We were flying? A wave of happiness spread over me. Flying was probably one of the best parts about the magical world…

X (Prussia POV)

Belarus and I made it back to the house quickly enough. She still wasn't talking to me, but that was most likely an improvement.

When Romano saw Spain, he was devastated. Yet again, he stayed up all night at his bedside.

Belarus was still mad at me, but she went to bed without any arguments anyway. After all, she had little interest in anything if had nothing to do with her dear older brother.

Italy had woken up early the next morning, and began hugging Romano again. Romano didn't even mind, and even hugged him back. Seriously, if this keeps up, next thing I know France and I are going to get married!

Oh, and Hungary was so happy that Italy was awake that she made breakfast for all of us.

As for me…

On that night, I called England.

"Hello? Oh, it's you…" he said. "What now? It's way too late for you to-"

"I. I need a few favors from you."

England sighed over the phone. "What is it? And if you want something hard, then that'll be less time for me to work on that spell."

I sighed. "Where to begin… All right. This is what I need you to do…"

X (Harry POV)

We landed our broomsticks in a lonely square in front of a run-down neighborhood..

Moody handed me a sheet of paper, and hissed, "Read it!"

It read 'The location of the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix can be found at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.'

Before I could ask, Moody grabbed the paper and set it alight with his wand. "Look," he said, and pointed at the space between number eleven and number thirteen.

Another building emerged steadily from between those two houses, growing and growing like a balloon inflating until it was about the same size as the other houses. "Go in," whispered Moody.

I opened the door to the strange building.

"Arf!"

A fluffy-looking dog came bounding out of the doorway, and placed its front paws on my legs. It barked once and began to pant.

"Mindaugas! Ateik!" (**Come**!)

Immediately the dog turned around and trotted over to its owner, a tall young man with shoulder-length hair and green eyes. He knelt down to pick up his dog. It began to pant and lick his face, to which the man smiled. The man stood up and looked at us. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't think that he would do that…"

Moody eyed him suspiciously. "You again?"

The man blinked. "Everyone else was sleeping… Molly asked me to stay awake for you. She's had a long night…"

Moody nodded and trudged past him, never letting his magical eye off of him.

The man sighed. "He's never going to trust me, is he?"

"Probably not," said Lupin. He put his hand on the man's shoulder. "Cheer up, he doesn't trust anyone."

"I guess…" The man said. His dog barked at me, and he turned to me. "Oh? Are you Harry?"

I nodded. "So they picked you up just now…" he mused. "Are you feeling okay? You just flew in this weather in the dead of night… I'll go make some cocoa."

He retreated into the house. I looked at the others, who shrugged. "He's always been like this," said Tonk. "Dung's been scared stiff of him ever since he came, though."

"He has?" asked Hestia Jones.

"Yeah. No idea why, though."

"Who is he?" I asked.

Lupin shrugged. "You had better ask him. None of us are really up to an explanation right now… I need a drink."

We ended up following the man into the kitchen, where he was working at the stove.

"Excuse me," I asked as I sat at the table. "But you never told us your name…"

The man turned around with a tray of cups and set it down at the table. "I'm sorry," he blushed. "Toris. Toris Laurinaitis. I'm one of the new Muggle Studies teachers this year."

X (Prussia POV)

"First, the spell that someone used on Spain. I want to know what it did, and why he hasn't recovered yet."

England sighed on the other end. "What was the incantation?"

"_Expergiscendum. _Awaken in Latin, right?"

There was a pause. "That spell… it sounds familiar, but I don't know what it does. I'll look it up."

"Danke," I said. "Second order of business… Why were the Dementors after Harry?"

England's tone suddenly became dire. "I know why they were after him, but I can't tell you. It'll violate _that_ rule."

I sighed. "You can't tell any human information interfering with that person's destiny that you learned by your 'know-everything-that-goes-on-in-your-land-ability ', right? But I'm a nation, and your ally. Why can't you tell me?"

"Because you and Harry are close, and I can't allow you to know," he replied simply. "You see, by merely knowing that information, you slowly alter his destiny. Anyway, if he finds out that you know and didn't tell him, he'll be furious."

"Fine then. Who were the ones who came for Harry? And why?"

"Let's see… They were the Order of the Phoenix. Hah… time for an explanation."

England told me about everything. Voldemort, Harry's parents, Hogwarts, Sirius, Wormtail… everything.

"…and that's the story," he finished.

"…England."

"Yes, Prussia?"

"One last thing. I want you to enroll us in Hogwarts."

X (Spain POV)

All I could see was darkness. Darkness, void, nothingness…

No. Wait. If I looked closely, I could see light…

I could see the face of a man in one of them… he was speaking… I could hear him… Rome?

But- that was so long ago! I was barely even a child then! How!?

"This place is your subconscious," a voice called. It sounded familiar… but where did I hear it before?

"Hola?" I said. I turned around and saw a silhouette right behind me.

"Hola," he said. It was definitely a man's voice…

"So how did I get here?" I asked.

He sighed. "After that witch hit you with that spell, it kind of…"

He made a motion with his hands. "Yeah… it sent you here."

I let out a sigh of relief. "Is that all… thank goodness. I thought that it was something bad… so, how do I get back?"

The man looked uncomfortable. "Ah. You see… that's the thing."

"You mean I can't get back!?" I shouted. No! Then… "Romano would be all alone…"

"That's not what I meant," said the man. "You can get back any time you want. This is your mind. You can make it lighter if you want."

"Oh?" I looked up. The man's features became clearer and clearer as the sun in the distance rose.

"Uh… you see… that spell wasn't exactly harmless," the man said.

I gaped at him and jumped back. "D-don't tell me!?"

"Yeah…" said my pirate self. "That spell kind of resurrected us… Say hi, everyone!"

"Hi!" chorused all of my former selves.

TO BE CONTINUED!

[1] Doc- Doc is actually Piers Polkiss, one of Dudley's gang. You see, a dock is like a pier, so… it turned into Dock, pronounced the same as Doc as in short for doctor.

[2] Romano's curse- Copied and Pasted from Wizard Swears.

[3] The alcohol cabinet- everything in it was a reference to the Marukaite Chikuyuu. All of the drinks were mentioned in the 'could I have some X' or whatever they ask for: even the non-drink items and non-food, too. The order came from the video _[APH] Everyone's Ending_ and _[APH] Everyone Else's Ending_, adding Sealand to the end.

[4] Gun license- I am not sure about gun laws in the UK at this point in time. But Sealand shouldn't be able to own one.

I subscribe to the belief that Lithuania is in fact 185 cm tall (taller than Russia or Sweden), but he just hunches over and makes himself short so much that he looks shorter.

Wondering what Prussia and Belarus are talking about? I was thinking about the Berlin Wall with Prussia. He was separated from his brother for more than forty years… Belarus was separated from her brother for centuries.

What will the nations do now that they've enrolled in Hogwarts? What will Spain do now that he's got all of his past selves back? And what did Harry mean about wanting to kiss Malfoy?


	4. Chapter 4

Unless previously stated, all events in Harry Potter are canon. So the letter about the trial was read off-screen.

I read about the Polish national anthem… it was written after Poland was fully partitioned… it said that the writer said that even if the nation is partitioned, even if the people are ruled by another, even if they are subjected, the nation shall live as long as the people still have their spirit. Poland…

Letters, shopping, and Lithuania (Harry POV)

Professor Laurinaitis took a sip of cocoa.

"Muggle Studies has become mandatory for all students whose parents were both wizards," he said. "So I'll be seeing you for classes soon enough."

I stared in horror. "Muggle Studies? But I've lived with Muggles my whole life!"

Professor Laurinaitis sighed. "I have no idea vhy zey vould do zat…"

"They're doing it so that wizarding children won't be completely ignorant about Muggles," said Lupin.

Moody eyed Professor Laurinaitis suspiciously. "How can we know that you're not working for You-Know-Who?"

"Who?"

"You-Know-Who!"

"No, I don't know who!"

"He means Voldemort," I said as everyone else flinched.

"Oh," said Professor Laurinaitis relatively nonchalantly. "To answer your question, no, you don't have any proof that I'm not working for him."

Before Moody could hex him, he added hurriedly, "But you don't have any proof that I am working for him, either…" he said faintly.

"Hm," grunted Moody and he strode off.

"Don't worry," said Lupin. "He doesn't really trust anyone."

Professor Laurinaitis sighed. "At least he's not trying to kill me…"

Tonks shifted unsteadily. "But that doesn't account for trying."

Professor Laurinaitis sighed heavily, and took another sip of cocoa. "Ah… if he were trying, then…" he gulped, "that would be another person to add to the list of people who tried to kill me…"

Naturally, this earned plenty of stares. Professor Laurinaitis blushed, and quickly became interested in his dog again.

"Laurinaitis!" snapped Moody. Professor Laurinaitis stiffened to attention. "Do something about your dog. You really need to housetrain him."

I looked down. Mindaugas was peeing on Professor Laurinaitis's leg. "Sorry…" he said guiltily, and he knelt to clean up the mess.

Kingsley Shacklebolt yawned. "It's late. We had better get to bed. You too, Harry."

There were murmurs of agreement. Lupin was the first to go upstairs, and everyone else followed.

Professor Laurinaitis got up from the floor. "Oh? You're not going to bed?"

I steadily stood up. Professor Laurinaitis sighed. "Harry… is it okay if I call you Harry?"

I nodded. "Harry, I'll ask Professor MacGonagall to get you out of Muggle Studies when she comes by tomorrow. In the meantime… please get some sleep. Your bedroom is upstairs, second room on the left. Oh and…"

His expression turned bleak. "I know what it feels like to work without sleeping, so…" he deadpanned.

I took the hint and made my way upstairs.

"Laikykis," he said. (**Hold on**). I turned around. "Your friend is sleeping in your room. I-I don't think that it's a good idea to vake him up…"

I nodded, and climbed the stairs. I wouldn't have found my room if he hadn't told me.

When I opened the door, I had a moment to notice that Ron and Hermione were in the room before Hermione threw herself onto me.

"Harry!" she shouted. "Harry, I'm so sorry, we really should have told you-"

I took in a deep breath and prepared to yell.

X (Prussia POV)

"All right, everyone," I said in German the next morning. Hungary had made us breakfast, which only me, Sealand, and Belarus actually ate. Italy and Romano had made their own food, and Spain was still out. "I have something to say."

Romano glared at me from his tomatoes. "The hell you talking about, Vital Regions Jerk?"

"Shut up," I said. "Remember what happened last night?"

"Ve… how could we forget?" Italy murmured.

"Ja. Vell… I got England to enroll all of us in Hogwarts."

Everyone stared at me. "You… what?" Belarus asked uncertainly.

"All of us are enrolled at Hogwarts. Harry's school."

There was a pause.

"You're telling us," Romano said at last, "that we are going to school."

"A wizard's school," I added. "Everyone except for you, Hungary."

"Am I too old to pass for a student?" asked Hungary. When I nodded, she shrugged. "It's only natural. You're the one who have been turned into kids again, not me."

"So why are we doing this, exactly?" Romano asked. He slammed his hands on the table. "YOU JUST COME IN AND TELL US THAT WE'RE GOING TO SCHOOL!? SCHOOL, OF ALL PLACES?! NONE OF US HAVE EVER BEEN TO ANY SCHOOL, AND YOU WANT US TO ACT LIKE STUDENTS?! ARE YOU INSANE, VITAL REGIONS JERK!? WE MIGHT NOT AGE! THEY'LL NOTICE!"

I put my chin on my palm and my elbow on the table. "It's about Harry."

"What about him?" Romano was on the verge of throwing tomatoes at me. I tried to diffuse the situation.

"Are you really going to leave him after what happened to him?" I asked. "Think. Last night England told me that someone sent those Dementors after him."

"He said that?" said Sealand skeptically.

"Well… no, he implied it, but that's close enough for him."

"Someone sending Dementors after someone…" Romano repeated. And shuddered. "Who would do such a thing?"

"Ve…"

"Jerk-England said that Dementors guard Azkaban- our wizard prison here," said Sealand gloomily. "He went there once. The minute he got back he told me never to go there, ever. That was the first time I remember him really crying."

Romano looked down. "I take back what I said. Anyone who has an enemy who would send those…_things_ after him is worth protecting."

Sealand thought for a moment. "Wait… I thought that Jerk-England didn't know the Headmaster… so how did he get you to transfer? Come to think of it, how did he get me in there in the first place?"

Across the Scottish border, inside of a castle, and inside the dungeon, a certain Potions Master sneezed. "Stupid England," he muttered. "Making me force MacGonagall to accept transfer students. AND enroll an extra first year. AND get four more people teaching jobs."

There was silence. "So… we are going to Hogwarts, then," Romano said quietly. "Will Spain be okay to…?"

There was a pause. "England said that he was looking up the spell," I said.

Romano relaxed.

"That jerk may not be able to undo his own curses, but he can break anyone else's," said Sealand.

"Ve…? So he's going to be all right?" asked Italy.

I nodded. "He will be. I've never seen England fail to break a magical coma."

There was a groan from upstairs. "Ugh… shut up, everyone… shut up…" murmured Spain's soft voice in Spanish.

CRASH! "Agh… A little help here?"

Spain had fallen down the stairs. I went on and helped him up. "Gracias," he said.

Suddenly, his expression hardened. "Prussia," he said. "You looking down on me?"

"…Nein?" I said, confused.

"You see me lying on the ground, and you say you don't look down on me?"

"Okay, this is getting a little weird."

"DIIEIEEEE!"

I dodged his axe by a hair's breadth. "C-The hell's wrong with you!?"

"QUIT IT! DI-"

Spain's expression changed more suddenly than Austria back when his piano got taken away from him. "S-stop it!"

Whatever had happened, it was over in a moment.

"Sorry about that!" Spain said cheerfully.

"Wait, what?"

"Who cooked breakfast?"

He stumbled his way to the table. "Ah, Romano~!"

"G-get off of me, you jerk!" Romano yelped as Spain hugged and cuddled against him.

"Aw, but you're so-"

"What happened?" I asked somberly.

Spain turned around and nodded sheepishly. "I… kind of found out what that spell did to me last night…"

"And?"

"Now I have split personalities…"

Split… personalities? "When you say split personalities… What exactly do you mean?"

Spain paused. "Conquistador says that they're my past selves along with bits of my personality as a nation…"

"Conquistador?" Hungary repeated.

"Ah, I call them by what they- I mean, I- was-were-am-"

"Spit it out, Tomato Jerk!"

"You're saying that you call your split personalities by a one-word description?" I clarified.

"Si!"

"And they personify certain parts of your culture as a nation or your past selves," I added.

"Exactly!"

"So who was it that tried to attack me?"

Spain shrugged. "I think it was the personification of my rage; I'm pretty sure that it was Gunner."

"They're Split Personality Clones," realized Hungary.

"And that means what, exactly?" Romano grumbled.

"It's like this," I explained. "Each of his split personalities takes up one aspect of his personality as a whole in addition to being his past self or culture."

Sealand was confused. "Wait, what?"

"Let's put it like this," I said. "Each of Spain's split personalities are, well, his personality when split. For example, Spain may have a persona that is his anger, his innocence, or even his maturity or envy."

Sealand was still confused. "I get that, but what was the part about his past selves and culture?"

"Spain, you have a Conquistador one, right?" When he nodded, I pressed, "What's he like?"

Spain looked up. "Well… he keeps everyone in line, and he's rational, and even though he smiles all the time sometimes he really wants to kill everyone."

"There," I said to Sealand. "So his personality is split, right?" Sealand nodded. "In addition to being that, they are _at the same time _his past selves. Or culture."

"For example?"

"Fencer is a stickler for rules," Spain said without missing a beat. "Dancer is my passion. Bullfighter is fearless. Grandma is-"

"You have a Grandma one?" Belarus asked incredulously.

"Si. She's really nice; do you want to talk to her?"

"Wait. Can they… take over?" Romano asked nervously.

Spain smiled. "Only if I let them! That is, except when I faint… Oh, and I think that Inquisitor can get out sometimes!"

The temperature dropped a few degrees. "Did you just say…? Inquisitor?"

Spain's smile faded. "I know… I remember being Inquisitor… Back then, I was the worst I ever was…"

I put my arm around his shoulder. "_I_ know."

There was a brief acknowledgement from everyone around the table. "Of course," said Hungary solemnly.

"But… Inquisitor…" Italy said nervously. "Will it be… safe?"

Spain nodded. "I hated myself from back then. All of my split personalities do, too. Inquisitor is currently under the psychic equivalent of being chained up in an iron maiden with plutonium spikes reinforced with diamond-hard carbon inside of a meter-thick steel box surrounded on all sides by lava which is in turn surrounded by freezing water."

"And… you know this how, exactly?" I asked.

"I put them there. Hey, it's my mind!"

"And I know your imagination…" Romano added.

Spain sighed. "But I get the feeling that he can slip out for one second…"

"So~o… What are we going to do about this?" I asked.

Spain shrugged. "Don't worry. Everyone else swore to keep him under control if he breaks out."

"Gut," I said.

Romano looked at me. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

Oh, right. "Hey, Spain. We're going to Hogwarts."

"Hogwarts? What, that wizard's school?"

"Harry goes there."

I explained the situation to him, and he nodded. "Scientist had calculated a 68.8924% chance of this happening," he said. "So, how soon do you think that they'll find us?"

There was a scuttling noise. "That's the owl," said Sealand. "I'll get it."

A moment later, Sealand emerged with an owl perched on his right shoulder, holding a bundle of letters. "Here."

I picked one up and read it. "So… basically, this is our letter that's saying that we are going to Hogwarts." I skimmed another one. "They're all the same."

Sealand read another one. "It says that someone is coming over here soon to take us shopping for school supplies."

There was a knock on the door. We all tried hard not to look at each other.

"I'll get it," said Spain.

"You had better get off of me first," grumbled Romano.

We all looked at Romano, and realized for the first time that Spain had been hugging him the whole time. Spain reluctantly let go and left the kitchen.

A moment later he walked back in with a severe-looking old lady in tow. She carried herself like an old-fashioned school teacher. "I am Professor MacGonagall, Deputy Headmaster of Hogwarts. I am here to inform you that-"

"VEE! SPIDER!"

A spider dropped onto Italy's head, and he began to scream and flail around.

"SPIDEEERR!"

"Che," Romano grabbed his brother by the collar-

The spider jumped from Italy to him, making him scream like a little girl. "GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF!"

THUNK. In a flash, Spain whipped his axe around and cut the spider in two. Unfortunately, that also meant that the axe was embedded in the table, too.

Uh-oh… Hungary had started to grip her frying pan a little too tightly…

"So, uh… Professor MacGonagall, vas it?" I said before anything could happen. "Vould you mind explaining just vot zis letter is about?"

Professor MacGonagall was not amused by our antics, but she pursed her lips and said, "Very well, then. Magic exists. You are wizards and witches."

Our reaction wasn't anything special. It was a while before one of us remembered that we weren't supposed to know about magic beforehand. "OMG like SRSLY?!"

Maybe I should have gone in before Italy. "Look, if you say zat ve are vizards, zen you haf to at least give us some evidence."

"Very well then." Professor MacGonagall drew a wand from her sleeve and flicked it. The table transformed into a hippopotamus.

"GRRRRRRRRRRRYYYYYYYYYAAAA!" It roared, suffering from the axe permanently affixed into its back.

"Whoops," I said, half grinning.

Professor MacGonagall flicked her wand once more and the hippopotamus was a table once more. Spain withdrew his axe, which disappeared into his own personal hammerspace. "Now that that is settled, do you believe me now?"

"Ja," I said. "So, zis school is for teaching vizards und vitches, zen…"

"Precisely. Now, I was sent here not only to inform you of your… magic, but also to help you get your school supplies."

"Ve? Why can't we just go out and get them ourselves?" asked Italy.

"Idiota!" Romano barked. "Where do you think that we could GET all these things?"

"The… black market?"

"May I speak?" asked Professor MacGonagall.

"You may," said Romano in that tone he only used with women.

"You can find your school supplies in Diagon Alley, where I will be taking you."

There were general nods. "Now then, who here is able to drive? I cannot take you to Diagon Alley the same way that I came here."

Everyone turned to look at me. "Fine," I said. "My car can hold all of us. Now, vere is zis Diagon Alley?"

"London. Now, if you could please take us to Charing Cross Road. We can walk from there."

I nodded, and we all piled into my car. "So, uh… vere is Charing Cross Road?"

Professor MacGonagall handed me a map. "Just go to Trafalgar Square, and we can walk from there." [1]

The trip to London was kind of awkward. My car could seat eight people (two seats in front and two rows of three behind), but that didn't seem to be enough space for Italy and Romano, since they had to keep on moving their arms and legs. Sealand had demanded window seat at once, but I vetoed that since he was the smallest he could be wedged between both Italies. He was slightly put out, but I gave him a berliner (a jelly doughnut, not a resident of Berlin) to keep him quiet. No one wanted to sit next to Belarus, and she didn't want to sit next to me, so Hungary finally decided to sit between her and Spain. Spain was still talking to himself under his breath. Professor MacGonagall asked him if he needed to use the bathroom. Twice. And no one disputed Professor MacGonagall's right to sit shotgun.

When we finally got to Trafalgar Square, Spain was slightly upset at the fact that we just HAD to park my car near what happened to be a memorial to one of his and France's defeats. When I told him to lighten up, he yelled at me and said that France was my friend, too.

And when Belarus told him to shut up, he complied.

Professor MacGonagall led us through Charing Cross Road, past several bookshops and record stores, until we finally came to a pub. "Through here," she said.

The pub was, by my standards, not very good. It wasn't clean enough for my tastes, the food was, well, England's, and it was too small for such a popular place. And the beer…

I wasted no time in ordering a beer. The barkeeper looked at me skeptically and asked for ID, and to see payment first. I asked him the price.

"Three Sickles, please."

Sickles? I was sure that I had at least a few in there… They were a couple centuries old, but they would do.

I handed him my (falsified) driver's license and three Sickles that were made back when Denmark was still a religious fanatic. After I took a sip of the beer (not as good as the ones at my house, but it was better than the watery stuff in the Dursley's house), Professor MacGonagall tapped me on the shoulder. "You do realize that we are here to shop, not drink."

I nodded. "Ja. But… how much vould our school supplies cost? I only haf a few Sickles left…" I turned desperately to Sealand.

Sealand shrugged. "I only have a Galleon, a Sickle, and a Knut. I collect them more than I actually use them…"

"Don't look at me," Belarus muttered.

"I can't spare any…" said Spain before having another internal conversation.

Hungary shook her head.

"If I had any, then I wouldn't give them to _you_," Romano spat.

"Ve… I left my money at home…"

"That is fine," said Professor MacGonagall. "At Hogwarts, there is a bank account for Muggle-borns. You don't have to worry."

"Gut," I said.

"Ve? But… where is Diagon Alley?"

"Behind the wall in the courtyard," Sealand answered promptly. "Tap the brick that is three up and two across from the left, and it will open."

Professor MacGonagall looked at him with suspicion. "And how do you know this, Mr…"

"Kirkland," said Sealand. "My brother used to come here a lot. I followed him here once… My bum hurt for _days_."

There was a collective shudder from Italy and Romano. "Ve… your brother…"

"…"

"Never mind," said Hungary, and she quickly added, "So, can you show us vere ve can buy zis sings?"

Professor MacGonagall said stiffly, "That is what I am here for."

Despite her tones, it was clear that she approved of Hungary; at least more than the rest of us. I caught her staring at my hair several times. "Vot?"

She pursed her lips. "If you do not know magic, then how did you change your hair and eye color? I can't see your original-"

"It's _natural_."

No more was said on this subject.

Professor MacGonagall led us to the walled courtyard like Sealand said and tapped the brick two across and three up. Italy jumped back as the wall opened up to a bustling city street. "Ve… it's so co~ol…"

"Welcome to Diagon Alley," said Professor MacGonagall.

X (Harry POV)

I woke up the next morning confused and disoriented. Where was I…?

And then I remembered. Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place… I hadn't woken anyone up last night, did I? A hot wave of guilt spread over me. I was so angry last night that I hadn't hesitated to shout… I must have woken up everyone in the house.

I stepped into the kitchen, and was greeted almost instantly by Mrs. Weasley. "Harry, dear!"

"H-hello, Mrs. Weasley."

"Have you slept well last night?"

"Y-yeah…"

Mrs. Weasley went off to prepare some more sausages. I made my way to the table, where Ron and Hermione were.

"Mornin'," said Ron, munching on a piece of toast. He leaned in and whispered, "No one heard you shouting last night. No one but us, Fred, George, and Ginny. We still haven't figured out why."

I blinked at this. "But… how?"

"Soundproof Charm," said Hermione. "It can be applied to any space. I'm sure that everyone here is perfectly capable of casting it."

"But who would think of casting it in the first place?"

There was a thoughtful pause, and then a yawn at the doorway. Professor Laurinaitis was shuffling into the kitchen, looking sleepy. "Labas rytas…" he said (**Good morning**).

"Good morning," I said.

He yawned again. "I stayed up all night worrying about Feliks again… I hope he's gotten back safely…"

There was a buzzing sound, and a male voice sung, "Jeszcze Polska nie umarła/Kiedy my żyjemy/Co nam obca moc wyda-" [2]

Professor Laurinaitis pulled out his cell phone and hit a button. "Sveiki?" he said. (**Hello**)

I couldn't hear what the person said on the other end of the phone, much less understand: from what I could hear, it was probably in Polish. But judging by Professor Laurinaitis's expression, the person on the line had said something shocking. Shocking, but not tragic.

Professor Laurinaitis sighed, and disconnected with a beep. "So he's still here… Oh vell."

"Who's still here?" Ron asked with his mouth full.

"My friend… Feliks. I thought he went back to Poland after what happened back then… but I guess not."

I looked at Ron for clarification, but he just shrugged. "He's never told us anything. Dung's scared stiff of him—I did tell you about Dung, right?"

"Yeah… Fred and George's… you-know-what."

Ron nodded. We couldn't mention a word of Fred and Georges' business contact.

Professor Laurinaitis's cell phone rang again. This time he kept on talking, allowing the three of us to finish our breakfast. Hermione leaned in and said, "We have to clean the curtains after this. But the others haven't eaten yet, so we can talk in our room."

Professor Laurinaitis turned around, and said, "Professor MacGonagall can't make it today. She said that she had to escort a few muggle-born students around Diagon Alley." He sighed. "And today was the only day that she said she could make…"

We went back upstairs quickly, and settled down on the beds. "So, you've never gotten around to telling me about Professor Laurinaitis," I said.

Ron shrugged. "We don't know very much about him," he said.

"All we know is that there are five new professors this year, and he's one of them," said Hermione. "But I don't know which subject he teaches."

"Well, if it's DADA, then we're-"

"Ron!"

Ron shrugged. "He's a total pushover. I bet you a Galleon that he'll get knocked out by one jinx."

"That may be true, but the fact remains that Mundungus is still scared of him," said Hermione. "And we don't know why, either. It could be anything."

"But he's a pushover! I mean, he does whatever Mum wants, even if it is cleaning the loo or something!"

Hermione glared at him. "You just don't like him because he's close with Snape."

A wave of cold air seemed to filter into my lungs. "Did you just say…Snape?"

Hermione nodded vigorously. "Yes. But he's not like him at all."

"But tell me about him and Snape," I said. "I mean, he seemed like a nice guy, but…"

Ron shrugged. "It just seems like he's sucking up to us, you know what I mean? Sirius doesn't like him, either."

That settled it. "So, then-"

"Harry, you can't hate him just because Sirius doesn't like him and he likes Snape," said Hermione sharply.

"Pfft, you just like him because he's _handsome_," said Ron.

Hermione turned a deep shade of red. "I do not!"

Ron grinned. "Su~ure."

"Anyway," Hermione said with dignity, "from what I've heard, there are two new subjects this year. For you two, there's Muggle Studies. But everyone has to take Music this year."

I gaped. "Music?"

Ron nodded. "I know."

"Music… I remember that Aunt Petunia made me go to a folk dancing class when I was eight," I said. "She did it to humiliate me at school and so that she wouldn't have to look after me for several hours."

Ron groaned. "I feel you, mate. Mum taught all of us how to play instruments… I got the hurdy-gurdy."

"I quite liked folk dancing, actually. Besides, any time spent away from the Dursleys was worth it."

"Oh."

"_THAT'S NOT THE POINT HERE_!" roared Sirius from the hallway.

I jumped up, but Hermione pulled me down. "They should stop in a moment," said Hermione. "Just… leave them alone."

I looked to Ron for support, but he shook his head. "You can't help them, mate."

I sat back down reluctantly, and Hermione sighed. "I can't say that I agree with Sirius on this… It's about Kreacher."

Ron shrugged. "The nutter deserves-"

Hermione glared at him. "He's not in his right mind, Ron!"

"Shh!" I whispered. Ron and Hermione fell silent.

I could now make out Sirius's and Professor Laurinaitis's voices again. "…He's a disgusting little toerag anyway-"

"You can't blame him for zat, your ancestors vere ze vones who made him zat vay."

"Are you saying that I should take responsibility for-"

"I'm saying zat you should apologize!"

There was a tense silence. Professor Laurinaitis sighed. "I von't force you. I vill leave now, but don't think zat zis is over."

I heard Professor Laurinaitis walk off, and Sirius snapped at Kreacher to go away. Kreacher sulked away, and Sirius sighed.

I opened the door. "You heard?" Sirius asked seriously.

I nodded.

"I can't stand that man… turns up from out of nowhere, and follows Molly like a dog… And I bet you anything that the other three teachers Snape got are just the same."

Hermione gasped. "So it was Snape who appointed the new teachers? But… I thought that it was Dumbledore's job!"

"I guess not," said Ron.

"Ron!"

Sirius shrugged. "Who knows. Anyway, how about some breakfast? I'm starving."

X (Back to Prussia)

We got our supplies rather easily. The bookshop, Flourish and Blotts, had stocked all of our school books, and I was surprised that Belarus didn't want any books on love potions. She caught me trying hard not to look at her, and she explained grudgingly that if she was going to marry 'Big Brother', then she was going to do it the real way. Professor MacGonagall seemed to brighten up a shade after she said that.

The Apothecary had luckily labeled each ingredient that we would use at Hogwarts. I took a few ingredients that weren't on the list just because they sounded interesting. [3]

I had doubts about the cauldron store, since Britain was notorious for importing thin-bottom cauldrons, but Hungary approved of their thickness. Given that she depended on the thickness of cooking implements to bash my head in daily, I figured that the ones she chose would do.

None of us had wanted pets, since everyone but Belarus had their own; I had Gilbird, Sealand had his seagull, Italy and Romano had their cats, and Spain had Pedro the bull. We didn't want broomsticks either; they were too expensive for the school to pay for either way. I was surprised that Sealand didn't ask, but he later admitted that he used to break into his brother's broom shed until he was caught. Upon discovering his brother's desire to fly, England had not punished Sealand as I thought he would, but rather grumbled a while before coming back out to show him how to fly properly. Sealand said that England had claimed to only have taught him so that he wouldn't break his neck, but I was sure that it was just because they really loved each other. Not that I told him, of course.

At last, we came to… the wands. Professor MacGonagall left us alone for this, saying that wands tend to be more private than anything else. Ollivander's was a small, dingy shop filled with rows upon rows of boxes. The only other piece of furniture in there was a single chair.

"Ah. Hello. New students, are you?"

An old man appeared from behind one of the rows.

Italy ducked behind Romano, who glared at the man. "How did you know?"

"Your expression, of course."

I considered pressing him further, but decided against it. "So, who first?"

Sealand eagerly stepped up. Ollivander—it must have been him—stared at him for a full minute, and then began measuring him. "Hm…" he muttered under his breath. "Silver Lime and Unicorn Hair, twelve inches, whippy." He pressed a wand into Sealand's hand but snatched it away just as quickly. "Alder and Dragon Heartstring, fourteen and a quarter inches, sturdy."

The process went on, and Hungary offered to run out and get ice cream while we waited. Ollivander nodded, but said that we would have to eat the cones outside if we did so.

It was a little while before Hungary came back before Ollivander found Sealand's wand. He was grinning. "I had made this wand when I had just finished my apprenticeship," he said. "I was young then, and I believed that I could make a wand with a metal core. Alas, the wand worked, but did not choose an owner for decades, so I never again used metal. The ore I used was blue steel that never rusted… I found it in a lake. Maybe this is your wand. Dogwood and Steel, twelve and a half inches, stubborn."

Sealand took the wand, and at Ollivander's urging, flicked it around.

Five minutes later, Hungary found us sitting outside the shop, still trying to wring the water out of our clothes. Sealand was happy with his wand, but still happy for the chocolate ice cream that Hungary had brought him. "Who's inside?" Hungary asked as she licked her cone.

"Romano," said Sealand.

A little while later, a storekeeper came running out of his shop, screaming that he was robbed. Belarus was able to 'persuade' him that we had no part in it, and then he continued screaming about his 'poor stolen tomatoes'.

Romano silently ducked out of the wand shop, holding a tomato in one hand and his new wand in another. "Not a word," he muttered.

Italy volunteered to go next, and we discussed wands. "Jerk-E-I mean, Arthur said that wands choose wizards," said Sealand. "He said that the wood is based on their masters' personality, but being linked to the wand core or tree can affect it."

I looked at Spain. "Do you think zat… _zat_ vould be a problem?" I asked.

Spain shrugged. "Maybe it will, maybe not? Don't sweat it, Gilbert!"

Italy came bounding out, and plopped down next to Romano. "What kind of wand did you get?" he asked.

Romano flicked his wand. "Willow and Wolf Hair, eleven and a half inches, solid. Wait a minute… don't tell me… the hair…"

"Ve? Mr. Ollivander said that the core of my wand came from a wolf in Italy, and the wolf had let him take only two hairs… I wonder who the other person is?"

"Idiota…" Romano muttered under his breath.

"Oh, and it's Ebony and Wolf Hair, eleven and a half inches, and very bendy!"

"Good for you," Romano grumbled.

"And I got a new pot!" said Italy. "It came filled with boiling water so now I can make pasta!"

Spain went in, and came out extremely quickly. "First try!" he said jovially. "Hawthorn and Phoenix Feather, fourteen and a half inches, temperamental!"

Belarus wanted me to go next, but I said that I wasn't finished with my ice cream yet; it would melt if I left it behind, and she was done with hers anyway. She took a long time, although not nearly as long as Sealand.

When she came out, she slammed open the door and said, "Your turn."

I ate the last of my cone and entered the shop once again. The wand's effects were apparent; a good portion of the shop was now charred, and icicles hung from the ceiling. Just like Sealand had been, I was measured and handed wands that were confiscated and replaced so quickly that I thought I was in a car factory.

At last, Ollivander had finally given me a wand that he didn't grab back for five seconds. "Go on. Try it."

A black eagle sprung from the tip, flew around my head and screeched three times, before finally settling on my shoulder and whispered into me ear, "Jedam das seine."

It then burst into flames, but not before leaving behind a single feather. I picked it up. My flag was emblazoned into it; a black eagle on a white background with twin bars of black above and below.

Ollivander grinned. "Blackthorn and Dragon Heartstring, fifteen inches and unyielding. You may notice that the tip is made of steel. Don't touch it, it's sharp."

I touched it anyway, and it drew blood. Hm… a decent wand after all. "So, how much do we owe you for zis?"

X

Professor MacGonagall found us at the Leaky Cauldron, told us how to get to the Hogwarts Express, and gave us our tickets. She bade us goodbye, and turned a corner.

We got home in my car, this time Spain riding shotgun because, well, it's the awesome me's car! At Belarus's 'urging', Sealand had found one of England's books that explained wand lore. "Dogwood… quirky and playful?"

"Ve? Can I see?"

"Ebony… non-conformist."

Belarus looked confused, but I knew what the wand meant. "Even if you don't seem strong willed on the surface, you haven't changed in centuries," I said. "That should be enough."

"What was yours, Belarus?" Sealand asked.

"Ash," she said. "Stubbornness, right?"

"'Ash is stubborn, chestnut drones, rowan gossips, hazel moans'," Sealand recited. "Jerk-England taught me that."

I whistled. "Should have known."

"And you said that it was… fourteen inches, thick, and Dragon Heartstring? And that dragon was a Belarusian Knifetail that nearly took out his leg."

He flipped back a few pages. "B is closer, Prussia. Blackthorn, right? Hm…it's a warrior's wand. Suited to martial combat…"

I looked at the tip again. Metal.

"And Hawthorn, Spain? Paradoxes… complexity… light and darkness, like Jerk-England said."

"Wait, what did your brother say about me?"

"Willow," Sealand continued loudly, "hidden insecurity, but has great potentia-"

"_Answer me_."

Spain's voice sent chills up my spine. His axe was already out-

And he dropped it. "Sorry, I lost control again… I'll try not to let it happen again!"

I sweatdropped. How long would we have to deal with this?

X (Harry POV)

By the end of the day, I was sure that we were waging war on the house. Not long after breakfast did we kill the doxies in the curtain, kill a nest of pigmies living under the stairs, take down a dozen screaming portraits of various Black family members, and finally drag them, earplugs in ears, to the boiler and burn them all. And only then did we have lunch.

By the time we were finally done, it was dinnertime. Mrs. Weasley had cooked another delicious dinner, but I was too tired to say much. I could tell that neither Professor Laurinaitis nor Sirius were happy with the arrangements, but what I really noticed was the fact that Mundungus Fletcher excused himself from the table as soon as Professor Laurinaitis sat down. I resolved to ask him about it later, and went upstairs.

There, I told Ron and Hermione about my neighbors. Like I thought, Ron really did think that Natalya was mental. Hermione, on the other hand, was more curious about Peter. "I really think that something may have been up with him. I mean, he was the only one who had actually looked at your scar, right?"

I shrugged.

Ron blinked. "Maybe he was going to Hogwarts. I mean, he is the right age and all."

"Hang on. I didn't see any sign of magic the whole time," I said. "And none of them had any trouble with any Muggle appliances. Gilbert could even drive."

Hermione nodded. "But they could still be half-bloods, or…"

I sighed. "Who knows? I can ask him next summer…"

There was a knock at the door. "Come in," I said.

Professor Laurinaitis came in. "Um… Sveiki…" he said shyly.

"Hi…" I said. Even if Sirius didn't like him, I had trouble being rude to him. It was like kicking a puppy.

"I… since no one else seemed to have told you, I thought that you wanted to know…"

Professor Laurinaitis blinked. "Your trial is tomorrow."

TO BE CONTINUED!

[1] Charing Cross Road, Trafalgar Square- I looked it up, and they are close.

[2] It was not until 1996 before there were customized ringtones. Oh, and that was the Polish national anthem.

[3] Buying interesting ingredients- I do that on Pottermore.

I looked up the wands on Pottermore. Cool, eh?

Sealand's wand is made from a fragment of Excalibur.

Jedam Das Seine is the Prussian motto. To each his own.

What will happen at the trial? Why is Mundungus afraid of Lithuania? And when will people finally realize that Prussia's hair is natural?


	5. Chapter 5

Oh… if I was unclear, think of Spain's multiple personalities thing as like Yami and Yugi from Yu-Gi-Oh. Yugi can talk to Yami, who can talk back and take over. I put them in this chapter since it looks like Spain's just crazy in the last chapter.

Prussia's wand originally had a bit more backstory, but I decided not to go into it since it seemed irrelevant. The ideas were that the wand's tip was steel taken from his first sword; the tip was stone and taken from Frederich the Great's grave…

The trial's text is taken directly from the book, with a few modifications.

Sin (of self defense) and Punishment (by letting him off)

That night, I could barely sleep. My trial was tomorrow… I was innocent, so there was no way… No. I was being stupid. They were going to snap my wand in half and that was it. I was never going to be a wizard again.

I couldn't remember falling asleep, but the next thing I knew, Professor Laurinaitis was trying to kill Gilbert with a sword while dressed up like a maid, while Gilbert was about ten years old and holding a frying pan. And then Natalya ran up to Gilbert while screaming about marrying him while Ron went into Super Saiyan 4 and Hermione tried to stop him with a Doublecast Ultima. Malfoy then used the Buster Sword to Summon Rincewind, who hit Wormtail for Q damage with his "Scream for Mercy in Al Bhed" attack…

When I woke up, I was shivering and sweating at the same time. Moreover, I was still cold. The blanket didn't help at all, even when I put my entire head under. After a few minutes of sheer discomfort, I gave up and got dressed.

Mrs. Weasley was already in the kitchen. "Hungry, dear?"

"Sorry. I'm not…"

Ron stared at me. "You've never turned down Mum's cooking! Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, it's just-"

"You need your strength, Harry," said Hermione in a no-nonsense tone. "There's no point in letting yourself starve. Even if you don't feel it now, you will later."

Ron ate another kipper. "These kippers are really good, Harry! Have one."

"R-Ron, Hermione, I get it," I said. "But I'm just- I-"

"Have you ever starved?" Professor Laurinaitis deadpanned. "Not just being locked in your room and given a can of soup every day. Eating absolutely nothing for days on end while marching through the three-foot snow with only a few scraps of thin clothing on your back…?"

Professor Laurinaitis looked so gloomy that Ron stopped eating.

"You've gone past the point of hunger and now you feel fine and the cold is almost gone, but you know you're starving to death and the cold isn't helping…"

Hermione looked back and forth at him and me.

"And when you finally get your meager rations… a tiny bowl only half full of lukewarm potato soup… the full weight of your hunger comes crashing down and-"

"Ey… Professor?" Ron said weakly.

"Yes…?"

"Can you… stop?"

Professor Laurinaitis blinked. "Oh. Sorry. I… forgot myself. Just… please, Harry. Eat."

Professor Laurinaitis's story had given me chills, so I ate some steaming sausages to warm up. To my surprise, I really was hungry this whole time. I took a few kippers.

Mrs. Weasley looked sympathetic. "Are you okay, dear?"

"Wh-Oh! Uh… yes, ma'am."

"You can call me Molly, dear."

"Th-thank you." Professor Laurinaitis was blushing.

Mrs. Weasley cocked her head. "Are you okay, dear?"

"Awa- oh, tai-yes! I'm fine…"

Mrs. Weasley handed him the plate of kippers. "You should eat, too."

Professor Laurinaitis gave her a look of gratitude, and ate the kippers.

"By the way… you cleaned the kitchen very well yesterday. Are you used to cleaning?"

"Taip…" said Professor Laurinaitis. (**Yes**) "I… I used to be a servant…" He sighed. "I had a lot of jobs, back home in Lithuania. Right now I have a government job… I started off as a farmer. I joined the army later… and I got and lost a few more jobs." His eyes glazed over. "Before I was a servant… I was a maid."

There was silence. "A… maid?" Ron asked.

"Taip…"

"But you're a bloke!" said Ron.

"It didn't matter…"

There was another awkward silence. "Vell, I'm going to make a few calls," said Professor Laurinaitis. "Be careful at your trial, Harry. Zis isn't going to be a fair trial. Zey've already decided upon your guilt. Zey vill try to set you up. All you can do is make a defense, and hope zat zey'll listen."

He left.

"Cheerful, isn't he?" said Ron, scraping his plate.

"Ron!"

Ron shrugged. "Look, he's on Snape's good side! No one decent can be-"

Hermione got up. "Let's go upstairs," she said.

As we walked upstairs, Hermione clucked her tongue. "Ron. You just don't like him because Sirius doesn't like him. Same to you, Harry," she added.

I blinked. "You're waiting for Professor Laurinaitis to slip up, aren't you?" Hermione said. "You're waiting for an excuse. You want to hate him, but you can't since he's too nice."

"I am not!" I said hotly.

"You _are_, Harry. I know these things."

"I can't help it!" I snapped.

"Just… stop it!" Hermione said desperately. "He's trying to be nice to you! He's trying to make you understand that you're not alone in suffering!"

"Well, that's just fantastic, isn't it?" I laughed hollowly as I swung the door to our room open. "I mean, it's not like he's got a great big scar on his-"

I stopped as I saw the expressions on Ron and Hermione's faces. Neither of them were looking at me. Rather, they were looking at a spot directly behind me…

Slowly, I turned around. It wasn't our room at all… It was Professor Laurinaitis's. Professor Laurinaitis was in there. And he was changing. More precisely, he was in the process of taking his shirt off. His back was to the door, so Ron, Hermione, and I got a full view of it. He had quite a broad back… but that wasn't what we noticed.

We saw the scars. There must have been hundred—no, thousands of them, criss-crossing and weaving and dripping. Right between his shoulder blades was a brand, 'Имущества России', (**Property of Russia**) the words seared into his skin. Professor Laurinaitis had taken pains to cover this with tattoos. There was one of a knight on horseback over a field of red, three stripes that made the Lithuanian flag (yellow, green, red), a wolf in iron armor, howling over a hill- [1]

Professor Laurinaitis turned around, his face red with embarrassment. He opened his mouth to speak, and I saw bruises circling his neck. [2]

"S-sorry!" I said, and slammed the door shut.

My anger forgotten, I let out a deep breath. "You were right," I said. "Hermione. I was waiting for him to… give me a reason to lash out at him."

Ron shook his head. "Bloody… You know, I might have been wrong about him. There is no bloody way he's lying."

Hermione shuddered. "But… what could have given him those scars? I mean, those weren't claw marks, for sure. None of them are parallel. And some of them curve-"

"Those were whip lashes," I said. "Dudley used to have a tortoise. He tried to make it move with a whip. It didn't work, and the tortoise never got hurt, but I could see how the whip curved."

"But who would try to whip someone in this day and age?"

"Never mind about that, was that Russian on his back?" Ron said. "What did it mean?"

"Why are you looking at me?" Hermione said after a while.

"You're the smart one!"

"That doesn't mean that I automatically know Russian!"

Ron and Hermione kept on bickering, and I wondered, _Who is Professor Laurinaitis, anyway?_

X (Romano POV)

I woke up to the sound of a phone ringing. Irritated, I picked it up. "The hell you want?" I asked.

"Romano!" England's voice panted from the other end.

Sweat began to run down me cheeks. "I-Inghilterra…"

"It is you, isn't it?!"

"Si…"

"Okay, good. I'm in a bit of a hurry now, so listen carefully. You've only got a few minutes to spare…"

I nodded, and he told me his instructions. "Got it? Good. Now, write down this address…"

X (Back to Harry)

I had seen this room before. In the Pensive, last year. This was the very same room where Ludo Bagman, Igor Karkaroff, Bellatrix Lestrange, and Barty Crouch Junior had their trials.

"You are late," a boomed voice from above.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I… didn't know." How many people were up there? Forty? Fifty?

"That is not the Wizengamot's fault," the voice continued. "An owl was sent to you this morning."

My stomach plummeted. Was this what Professor Laurinaitis was talking about? Did they make me late on purpose?

"Take your seat."

I found myself looking at the chair in the center of the floor. It was virtually bare except for the thick chains around the armrests. Gulping, I sat down. The chains clinked, but did not bind my arms as I had seen them in the Pensive.

"Well, well," said Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic. "Are you writing this all down, Weasley?"

"Yes, Minister," said—my heart skipped a beat—Percy Weasley. I glanced at him hopefully, desperate for some sign of recognition, but it never came.

Fudge cleared his throat, and began to speak. "Interrogators, Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic; Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Dolores Jan Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister; Court Scribe, Percy Weasley-"

"Witness to the Defense, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore," said a voice from behind.

I turned around. Dumbledore stood in the middle of the floor. I looked up. Some of the jurors looked down, others began to frown, and still others looked simply confused. A few elderly witches smiled and gave a friendly wave.

"Er—yes, Dumbledore," Fudge said. Dumbledore's appearance was clearly unexpected. "We—er—haven't exactly been expecting you—you did receive the owl about the trial being changed, right?"

"It must have been a happy accident," said Dumbledore cheerfully. "I happened to turn up several hours early."

"Oh. Uh… good. Weasley, go get him a chair."

"No need," said Dumbledore, and he conjured a fluffy armchair and sat.

"Now," Fudge read from a piece of parchment. "The charges for the accused are as follows: That he did, with full knowledge of the illegality of his crime, produce a Patronus Charm in the middle of Little Whinging, a muggle neighborhood, in full view of muggles, on the night of August the second, twenty minutes past nine, in violation of the Stature of Secrecy and paragraph C of the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery Act, 1875. Are you Harry James Potter, of Number Four, Privet Drive?"

"Yes."

"And did you, with full knowledge of the illegality of your crime, produce a Patronus Charm-"

"Yes, but-"

"In full view of muggles-"

"Yes, but-"

"And do you plead guilty or-"

"I did it because of the Dementors!"

The room fell silent. "Dementors?" Madam Bones said in genuine surprise. "I don't understand."

Fudge laughed. "Oh, come on, Amelia. I had expected something like this. Dementors in Little Whinging… Harry here had been thinking it through and thought that Dementors would make a nice little cover story… Muggles' can't see Dementors, can they? And no witnesses, either…"

"I'm not lying! There were two Dementors and they went after-"

"I'm sorry to interrupt a very well rehearsed story, but-"

"There is a witness," said Dumbledore. "Other than Dudley Dursley. She's right outside the door. Oh, and if the young man who was banging on the door earlier is to be believed, he is also a witness."

A young man and a woman? I thought. Who else was there? Feliciano and Lovino Vargas, and—Mrs. Figg…

"Very well then," said Fudge with a face like a lemon. "Send the woman in."

Mrs. Figg entered, looking scared. And still in carpet slippers… Dumbledore gave her his seat, and conjured up another one for himself.

"Full name?"

"Arabella Doreen Figg," said Mrs. Figg.

"And who exactly are you?"

"I am a resident of Little Whinging. I live close to Harry."

"There are no witches or wizards living in Little Whinging," said Madam Bones. "The situation has been monitored closely, given… past events."

"I'm a squib," snapped Mrs. Figg. "So you don't have me on the register, do you?"

"A squib, eh? In that case, we will review your parents' files later," said Fudge.

"Incidentally, can squibs see Dementors?" asked Madam Bones.

"Yes we can!" said Mrs. Figg a little too quickly.

"Can you tell us, from your point of view, what happened on the night of the second?"

Mrs. Figg cleared her throat. "Well, I was out buying cat food around nine, and when I was walking home I heard a disturbance between Mangolia Crescent and Wisteria Walk. So I checked to see what was going on. And then I saw two Dementors running-"

"Running?" repeated Madam Bones. "Dementors don't run. They glide."

"That's what I meant to say," Mrs. Figg said indignantly. "They were going after a group of four boys."

"What did the Dementors look like?"

"Big. And wearing cloaks."

I gulped. Mrs. Figg probably had only seen a picture of Dementors at most.

"A-and… I b-began to r-remeb-ber… things… terrible things…"

I gulped. Mrs. Figg wasn't lying about that.

"Very well then," said Madam Bones. "You may leave."

"Not a very convincing witness, eh?" said Fudge when Mrs. Figg had left the room.

"But she described the effects of a Dementor attack accurately enough," said Madam Bones. "Send the next witness in."

The doors opened again, and Lovino Vargas stepped in, impeccably dressed and looking angry. Lovino? How did he know that I was here? Scratch that, how did even get in? Was he a wizard?

He took Mrs. Figg's chair and looked upwards.

"Full name?"

"Lovino Vargas," he said, much more coolly that I would have thought. I had expected him to shout. "No middle name."

"And who exactly are you?"

"I'm Harry's neighbor."

"There is no record of any witch or wizard living in Little Whinging."

Lovino sighed. "I'm foreign. I just moved here from Italy a few weeks ago. If you need my address, it's Number 3, Privet Drive."

"Very well then."

Fudge laughed again. "Italy? You say that you're from Italy?"

Lovino glared, but did not shout. "Si. Avete bisogno di qualsiasi prova del mio paese di origine?" (**Do you require any other proof of my home country**?)

Fudge looked desperately at Percy. "Did you get that down?"

Percy shook his head. "No, sir. I don't speak Italian."

"What did you say?" asked Madam Bones. "In English, please."

"I asked if you required any proof of my country of origin," said Lovino.

"In that case, we will take your translation as truth."

"But—Italy?" Fudge protested. "One of the few countries that we here in Britain are unable to receive files from, and that is where you claim to be from?"

"I am telling the truth," said Lovino testily.

Fudge sighed. "This is such a waste of time… can't we just convi-"

"Cornelius, let us continue with the trial," said Madam Bones. "It is not unheard of for people to move between different countries. Now, can you relate, from your own perspective, what exactly happened on the night of the second?"

Lovino took in a deep breath, and sighed. "I…I was out in the park, with my little brother. We… we were beaten up by Harry's cousin and his gang."

There were murmurs of surprise. A group of muggle boys, beating up wizards?

"So we—that is, me and my brother—walked home after we were able to walk again, and then we… I…" Lovino shuddered. His hands gripped the armrests. "We ended up following Harry and his cousin, since we live next to each other, and—" Lovino's chills grew, and he broke out into a cold sweat "—I… I felt it."

"Felt what?" asked Madam Bones.

"I felt… everything. Pain… everything that I ever felt…" Lovino shuddered.

Normally, if I heard those words, I would have thought that that person was simply overacting. But Lovino was serious. His hands were shaking, and he was looking at the ground with dead eyes.

"And what happened after that?" asked Madam Bones.

Lovino composed himself. "I… I saw a stag of light from out of nowhere. A Patronus. Harry's. And then I passed out. The next thing I knew, I was in Harry's house, and he was arguing with his uncle."

"And?"

"And that's it. My fratello—my brother, was crying, and we left."

"And that is the end of your story."

"Si."

"Very well then. You may leave."

X (Romano POV)

I looked at the man presiding over the court. He wasn't trying to have a trial at all. He wasn't trying to determine if Harry was guilty or innocent. He was trying to make him guilty, and get this trial over with. "May I bring in another witness?" I asked. "It would only take a few minutes for me to pick him up."

"I haven't got time to-"

"This is the legal system here, isn't it? It's legal to bring in witnesses to court, am I right?"

Madam Bones nodded. "As long as you do not take an excessive amount of time. _Is that _clear?" she stressed.

I nodded. "I need ten minutes. Use a stopwatch if you have to."

X (Back to Harry)

Lovino sprinted out the door, almost knocking over Mrs. Figg but apologizing on his way out. Fudge grumbled about time-wasters, and Madam Bones snapped at him.

"So… what's a stopwatch?" asked one of the wizards at the court.

"It's a muggle invention. It records time."

"Like a clock?"

"No, it's not the simple-"

"Are you sure that he wasn't… _covering_ for Potter?" Fudge asked.

"His story lined up with Figg's," Madam Bones said levelly. "And did you see how scared he looked when he was talking about the Dementors?"

"He could just be acting," Fudge persisted.

"Nevertheless, this is a court of Law, Cornelius. We cannot assume that everyone is lying."

"I'm back." Lovino called. "The witness is in the hallway. All I have to do is wake him up and explain-"

"No, you do it, Percy," said Fudge.

Lovino put his hand to his chin. "He doesn't know what's going on right now," he grumbled. "He's going to panic if I don't come with you."

Percy and Lovino left the room. A few minutes later, Percy came back with a scared-looking Feliciano in tow.

"Full name?" boomed Madam Bones.

"Ve… F-Feliciano Vargas…"

"And who exactly are you?"

"I-I'm Harry's neighbor… oh, and I like pasta and-"

"Can you tell us, from your point of view, what happened on the night of August the second?"

"Ve?"

"Last Tuesday."

"Ve… fratello and I were out in the park-"

"Skip to the Dementors, will you?" Fudge snapped.

"I believe that I am the head of Magical Law Enforcement here, Cornelius?" Madam Bones said. "Alibis are important."

Fudge backed off. "Then, continue from where you left off."

"Ve… so… fratello and I were jumped by Harry's cousin and his gang… after they left, fratello helped me up and he carried me over his shoulder-"

"He carried you over his shoulder?" repeated Madam Bones.

Feliciano shook his head. "Ve… it was more like he let me hang on his shoulder…"

"Very well then. Continue."

"So we followed Harry and his cousin, since we live next door to him and we didn't know any other way of getting home…a-and then… The air froze… Fratello cursed, and told me to shut up… A-and then…"

Feliciano wasn't going to say anything else. That much was clear. He was terrified.

"Are you going to finish your sentence?" asked a fluttery, girlish voice. A toadlike woman emerged from the shadows.

Madam Bones looked at her. "He has said enough. Have you said everything that you wanted to say?"

Feliciano gave her a slight jerk from his head.

"Very well then. You may leave."

X

After the trial, I felt as if a huge weight had just left my shoulders. I was still a wizard… Mr. Weasley had gone to deal with something, but he said that he'd be back in a little while. In the meantime, I was to wait by the fountain.

"Hey, Harry."

I turned around. Lovino was scowling. "That woman… watch out for her."

"Madam Bones?"

"No. That woman in the back. Umbridge. There's something wrong about her."

I nodded.

"Ve… she's scary… she reminds me of Roberto Suc-" [1]

Lovino glared at his brother, who snapped his mouth shut. Lovino turned back to me. "Either way, don't mess with her. But if you get on her bad side, screw with her as much as possible."

Wait, what?

Lovino grabbed Feliciano. "We've got to go before Gilbert finds out that we're gone."

"Ve? Why?"

"Wait, what do you mean by-"

Lovino sighed. "Feli. How exactly did you think we got here?"

For a few seconds, Feliciano simply looked confused, until revelation dawned. "Yo-you don't mean…"

Lovino nodded, shaking. "I stole Gilbert's car."

Feliciano stopped moving. Lovino poked him. "He's gone into shock," he explained. "Whatever you do, don't go out through the same entrance as us."

Before I could ask what he meant, Lovino picked up Feliciano and ran. "Ciao!" Feliciano waved before being dragged backwards.

I waved back, not entirely understanding what was going on.

"Harry?"

I turned around. Mr. Weasley was had come back. "Harry, who were those two?"

"They were… friends. I didn't know they were wizards." I looked down. "Why didn't they tell me?"

"Well, maybe they didn't know that you were a wizard," Mr. Weasley said sensibly. "I mean, they are foreign, and my colleague in Italy says that they don't know much about Voldemort there."

I had no choice but to accept this explanation. Of course they shouldn't know. That would violate the International Stature of Sec-

Peter. Peter is British; he should have known about my scar the whole time. And he looked at it for too long for him to just be staring. And he had a brother named Arthur, who I was sure is a wizard. Gilbert did say he was going to ask him about a spell.

"Harry? Are you all right?"

I snapped out of my thoughts. "Wh- Oh, yes Mr. Weasley."

"It's time to go."

X (Romano)

Veneziano and I crept into the elevator. "All clear," I said. "Now… here's the plan. As soon as Prussia shows up, we both run in opposite directions. You run to the Leaky Cauldron. I'll run home."

Veneziano was still shaking.

"Veneziano, are you listening to me!?"

He jumped. "Ve…Romano, I—I'm not sure his is a good idea…"

I shrugged vigorously. "It's the only one we've got!" I snapped.

The elevator dinged, and we stopped moving. Veneziano and I looked at each other, and nodded.

I looked around. No sign of Gilbert anywhere. "Coast's clear," I said to Veneziano.

"Ve…"

"Let's go!"

"Go vhere?"

A chill crept down my spine as I looked up. "P-Prussia…"

Prussia looked down. "You stole my car," he said flatly.

"I—I was going to g-give it back…"

"And how well would you have treated my car? I know how you drive…"

I gulped. There was no way that I was getting out of this…

X (Spain POV)

I had to admit, today was a strange day. First, Fencer woke me up because he needed my body for sword maintenance, and then Conquistador had woken up and said that he wanted to sharpen my axe while I was at it.

And then Gunner woke up and demanded that I hand him my body so that he could clean his guns. I said no, since it was early and I was hungry. Grandma had agreed, and yelled at Gunner for being so insensitive. Conquistador had gotten mad at _them_ since he almost cut my finger off when their arguing distracted him.

So when a knock came at the door, I was relieved. Even when it turned out to be Mr. Dursley. His moustache was quivering, and his face was an unhealthy purple. "Out with it, boy!" he shouted. "Confess!"

"Confess what?" I asked.

"YOU WERE IN MY HOUSE THE OTHER NIGHT! YOU STOLE MY PRIZED DRILL!"

His prized what?

"You should tell him the truth," said Grandma.

"No, are you an idiot!? That'll get us arrested!" Gunner retorted.

"I agree with her," said Fencer. "We'll get what we deserve."

Gunner growled. "You—you-"

"If he tells the police," said Conquistador quietly, "we can always kill him. There's a wood close by where we can hide the body."

Mr. Dursley turned pale. It took me five seconds to realize that yes; my split personalities were _speaking out loud_.

Whoops.

Before he could run, I grabbed Mr. Dursley by the shoulder. "Don't tell anyone," I said with an edge to my voice that was hardly ever there. "If you do, I'll kill you."

Mr. Dursley nodded fearfully, and ran.

"That was a good one, Conquistador," Fencer admitted at last. "Not that I approve…but that was impressive."

Conquistador shook his head. "That wasn't me," he said solemnly.

"Then who…"

Fencer sensed my feeling. "That was you, boss!?"

I nodded.

A sticky tendril of guilt licked up. "Uh… Spain?" asked Conquistador. "Can I… go back to sharpening?"

"Si."

A little while later, there was another knock on the door. "Don't answer it," moaned Conquistador. "I'm not even halfway through here."

"If someone is at the door, open it," said Fencer stiffly.

"I want to kill something… open it," said Gunner.

"Now now, young man," said Grandma. "That is _enough_."

I went to the door anyway. "Hello?" I asked.

A man stood in the doorway, his mouth hanging open. He was balding, and he had a goatee, but the first thing I noticed was—"_What is he wearing_?" asked Conquistador; this time not speaking out loud.

"_Isn't it too hot for him to be wearing a scarf that thick_?" asked Grandma.

"_Is that… a cardigan_?" asked Conquistador.

"_He looks like an old grandma_…" snickered Gunner.

"_Hey_!"

"_Sorry… Wait, why am I apologizing?! Spain, let me out. I want to kill something. FURYYYY!_"

"_He does not seem to be at ease with his current garments_," said Fencer.

"_No duh! He's dressed like a… a_…"

"_Guy who got all of his clothing out of a dumpster without actually knowing what they were there for_?" Conquistador finished dryly.

"_Exactly_!"

"_SHUT UP_!" I screamed mentally.

"Excuse me…" the man said quietly. "But… uh…"

"Si?" I asked, just barely allowing my rage to bubble over the surface.

"I'm from the Ministry of Magic, and…" he trained off.

I whirled the axe around, leaving scarcely a millimeter of space between my blade and his neck. "If you are going to speak, speak up, si?" I said, smiling a smile that I only wore when I was a murderer.

The man blanched, and his pants turned a shade darker. Too frightened to even scream, he ran.

"Well now," I said.

"That was a strange fellow," said Grandma.

"Ditto," said Gunner.

"Look who's talking," Conquistador muttered.

"Spa~ain, why didn't you let me kill him?"

I hefted my—not Conquistador's—axe. "You're not the only one who can get angry, mi amigo," I said.

Conquistador opened his mouth (that's the best I can describe that feeling when I can't see him outside of dreams) to ask to take over, but I waved him off. "I'll do it."

Not long afterwards, the door lock rattled as it unlocked. Prussia stepped in. He took one look at me, and turned away almost instantly.

"Prussia," I said, still smiling that same evil smile. "What's wrong? Come on, I'll listen." Prussia turned around. "Come on, you look pale," I said. "I mean, more pale than usual."

Prussia slowly looked up, and I saw the beads of sweat on his face. He said something that barely came out as a whimper. "What's that? Mi amigo, if you want-"

"I tied up Italy and Romano and stuffed them into the trunk of my car after Romano stole it!" Prussia shouted in a fit of reckless abandon. He was panting.

That's it. Time to go berserk.

X (Back to Harry)

When I got back, Mr. Weasley told everybody the news. Everybody was cheering; Mrs. Weasley started cooking another feast and Fred, George, and Ginny were singing, "_He got off! He got of_f!"

When I got to the parlor, Ron and Professor Laurinaitis were playing chess. Ron was grinning. "I've got you now," he said. "Check!"

Professor Laurinaitis moved his queen to the left. Ron ordered his bishop to kill it.

"Checkmate," said Professor Laurinaitis.

Ron gaped. "I—uh—you're—how did you?!"

"Now that your bishop killed my queen, he can no longer kill my knight here. And since there are no other pieces that can kill my knight, then if I just move my knight like this-"

The king was smashed to bits.

Ron stared at his king, and then at Professor Laurinaitis. "You're bloody amazing! Who taught you?"

"I… taught myself," Professor Laurinaitis said modestly. "I… had a lot of practice…"

His cell phone rang again. "Sveiki? Sorry, Ron, I have to take this call."

As soon as Professor Laurinaitis was safely out of earshot, and no one else was around, Mundungus grabbed us. "You two 'af a minute?"

"Er…"

"Good. Look, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, I 'af to tell you sumtin."

He looked at us intensely. "Whatever you do, don't tell yer mum that I was talkin teh yuh, kay?"

We nodded. "What's this all about, then?" asked Ron.

"T's about that Laryngitis fellah."

"Laurinaitis," Ron and I said at the same time.

"Meningitis, right. So, yeh know how I run w'never 'e comes near?"

We nodded.

"Yuh see; the man just came round a few weeks ago. Before you lot came. 'e's a demon, ah'm tellin yuh."

"And… what is this all about, exactly?" I asked.

"Was getting tuh it… Well, I was 'anging round Black Allen's place—Black Allen's a gangster, just so yuh know, don't mess with 'im—to er… have an exchange. Fer some reason, dere was a girl dere. Tied up. 'er mouth was gagged. Now, you don't ask Black Allen questions, less you want your innards out alive. But 'e caught me looking at 'er—she was a real looker, I'm tellin yuh—and he told me why she was dere."

"Girl was round his turf, 'e said. Said sumtin bout 'is boy's clothes. Ugly, or sumtin. Now, the boys don't take too kindly to criticism… so they tied 'er up—she got one of em, but that's a whole nother story—and brought 'er to base."

"I was—er, _dealing_ with Black Allen at the time, and just when we reached a 'greement-" Mundungus shuddered, "'e 'eard a scream. Man's scream. Den another scream, and something cracked. 'nother scream, sound like someone's arm chopped off. Black Allen and I looked at one another, and tried tuh bolt."

"And then…" Mundungus shuddered. "The doors slammed open. There was a man there. 'e 'ad a sword in one 'and—bloody, too—and 'e was dragging 'nother man by his hair. 'e looked angry, too. Black Allen took one look at 'im and decided to run for it."

"Now what 'appened next, I 'ave no idea. But the man grabbed Black Allen by the neck, and stabbed 'im. Through the chest. But I wasn't gonna stay any longer, after all that. So I ran, and for some reason, 'e didn't chase. But I saw what he'd done. The base was a bloodbath. Lucky Luke's skull was crushed. Dragon Trev's arm was cut off. Walls covered in splatters o' blood."

Ron looked as if he might puke. "C-can we skip that?"

Mundungus nodded. "That wasn't ever tuh worst part. After that, I came back 'ere. And when I got 'ere, who would be 'ere but _him_! The man who slaughtered all've Black Allen's gang! Tendonitis Lymphangitis!"

"Toris Laurinaitis," corrected Ron.

I gaped. "You mean that Professor Laurinaitis did all that?!"

Mundungus nodded. "Aye."

"No way… he's just a… a…" Ron said.

"'e 's a demon, I'm telling yeh!"

"But… how? And why?" I asked.

Before anyone could answer, there was a scream. Ron jumped up. "That came from the drawing room!" he shouted.

"That was Professor Laurinaitis!" I shouted.

TO BE CONTINUED!

[1] The scars and the brand: Lithuania does have the scars, but I elaborated. As for the brand… it means that he was Russia's. And the tattoos are to remind him that he's Lithuania, not a part of Russia.

[2] The bruises around Lithuania's neck: Lithuania has (or had) the highest suicide rate in the world. The bruises are from hangings…

[3] Robert Succo (I can't remember his name) was a serial killer. I compare Umbridge to him. Enough said.

Extra Scene: Lithuania's interview (Snape POV)

"Lietuvos Respublika," said the man, and his eyes widened. "I… did not know zat zat vould happen…"

"That was a _Truth Potion_," I said irritably. "That happens when one consumes a _Truth Potion_. They tell the _truth_."

Lietuvos Respublika turned red, and said frantically, "Call me Toris. Toris Laurinaitis."

I leaned forward and asked chillily, "So, Mr. Laurinaitis. Have you ever worked before?"

Toris nodded. "I…started off as a farmer, and then I became a soldier, and-"

I waved him off. "Never mind; which one of your jobs was the most humiliating?"

Toris shuddered. "I… I used to be a maid…"

I shifted. "Do you have any military experience?"

Toris nodded. "I vas part of the Lithuanian military. I also used to be a knight until harvest season came around-"

"Did you have any _normal_ jobs?"

"I… used to be a farmer."

Ah. I was on steadier ground here.

"Until Poland got partitioned."

"And who was your first boss?" I asked, now desperate.

"Grand Duke Mindaugas," said Toris, and instantly regretted it.

I looked at him in the eye, and asked, "Are you nations?"

Toris and Roderich both looked surprised, and they nodded.

"Yes."

"I'm Lithuania, and this is Austria."

Now everything made sense. "Very well then. You got the jobs. You may leave."

Neither of them moved. "Yes?" I asked.

"I…uh…" Lithuania said awkwardly.

"How do you know about us?" asked Austria sharply.

I sighed. "That is a story for another time."

What did Snape mean? What is Lithuania screaming about (hint: Drawing Room)? And what will Spain do to Prussia?


	6. Author's note

THIS IS NOT AN UPDATE! DO NOT REVIEW!

Hello, Zantetsuken Reverse here. Recently, it has come to my attention that a new piece of legislation in the U.S. has been passed regarding copyright and the internet. Basically, copyrighted works are forbidden from having fan works. And fan writers/artists/etc can go to jail for uploading their works, even if they are nonprofit. The name of this law? SOPA. Stop Online Piracy Act. It will be applied on September 21.

Of course, if that law is put into effect, there is a chance that there will be no more updates. Ever.

This doesn't even apply to just . This law will stop all fan works, even DeviantArt and Tumblr. And possibly, fan translations. So if you aren't fluent in Japanese and/or can't get access to any direct exports, tough. No more fan translators to make you your life easier.

Yes, this will not stop those of you who are unaffected by American laws from doing your own thing. But keep in mind that many fan works will be put to a grinding halt because of this law. If we American writers get arrested, no more updates.

For more details, go to XxAlysxX's account. There will be fuller descriptions on his/her last story updates, as well as the link to the petition.

Thank you, and please vote against SOPA! We must get the allotted number of signatures by September 21, or else the internet as we know it will crumble! Have a nice day.

Please do not review to this chapter. If you have any questions about SOPA, please direct them to XxAlysxX. If you have any questions for me, please PM.


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